It is possible for two truths to be right. For example, I’ve been tying my shoe one way since the fifth grade. I am aware that other people tie their shoes differently. Both can work. It sometimes is good to know both ways, but if my way of tying my shoe has worked for the past fifteen years, perhaps I don’t need to know the other way.

It’s been one of those months of filling up my cup. Halloween weekend was fun I hadn’t had in too long. I might just write the story for my paid only readers…xoxoxo

The way I explained it is, I had a lump of coal up my ass for the last two years hoping that it’d turn into a diamond. I do have a little diamond today. It is smaller than I expected, but hey, diamonds last forever. You would be proud.

I like who I’ve become, even at my worst, which can still be pretty ugly. To quote Winston, “To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.” For a while now, it has been a daily jigsaw puzzle I’ve been working out and improving here and there, whether that be meals, workouts, emotional conceptions, social crap, literacy, you know, most of the good stuff. It is not all the big things I always wanted, it’s essentially efficiency, which is rewarding by itself.

I remember at my high school graduation, that some guy who was giving our graduation commencement said, “I want you to take this time to be really proud of yourself.” I wasn’t feeling it. I also remember a drive home tonight with a girl who was talking about how this co-worker of her’s is “a little bitch.” And then she literally described every quality I think I have about myself.

-makes jokes at other people’s expense

-doesn’t work well in groups

-is a teacher’s pet

-is extremely insecure whether he knows it or not

So that was nice.

My whole life (here comes the insecurity) I’ve never felt like enough. But, even though my life’s work isn’t finished, I’m just glad I got here. I’m taking my moment. I’m glad that it’s gotten easier to the extent that I can accept myself. I think we are all proud of ourselves for different reasons, in different seasons.

I believe a lot of people liked me when I was younger for a while, but I didn’t like myself. And now, I’ll just say, it’s better to have nobody like you, but at least like yourself. A girl was talking about how she felt so lucky that she was a coward at 22. Life got a lot better. You don’t need to dig very deep in my archives to know, I think I actually do struggle with depression. It is sad. But, even as I write this in a closet I call my office, with no job, my two best friends on the spectrum, and whatever else isn’t good enough, I’m just so happy I am here. Again, not in like a life is wonderful! I’m just saying it is beautiful enough, with or without everything I think I know I want.