It's okay that I fucked up.
It's okay that I've been messy, dysfunctional, intense, afraid, anxious, sad, angry.
It's okay that I've gone down the wrong roads, had the wrong relationships, cried on my friends' shoulders, drowned in shame.
It's okay that I've regretted, yearned and resented.
It's okay that I haven't done better, that I could have done more.
It's okay that I've been neurotic, obsessed, overly-self critical.
It's okay that I've sobbed, curled up naked in the foetal position, until my head ached and my eyes throbbed.
It's okay that I've tried so hard to make it all okay again.
It's okay that I didn't find the Promised Land or the perfect lover.
It's okay that I can't do what I can't do, that there are times when I'm utterly incompetent.
It's okay that I'm sensitive and prone to introspection.
I realise - again - that this is not about changing, eradicating or creating myself anew. It's simply about loving this, here and now, whatever this is.
