I must.

If you’re anything like me, you’ve felt like a fuck-up lately.

Truth is, I probably feel this way more often than not. It’s something in my wiring. Something that happened to me. Some several things, or situations, or decisions. A whole series of choices and non-choices that make me feel like nothing I can do is good enough.

I’m sure it goes back to something with one of my fucked up parents, or their fucked up parents, or probably their fucked up parents too. Just a whole connect-the-dot type game of family history and fucked up actions, scenarios, and out right abuse. Or more, or less.

Or something else entirely.

I’ve always struggled with it. And I’ve always fought so hard to get it. It’s like I have this side of me thats petrified of my own capabilities, and one side of myself thats so annoyed that the other side is struggling to move forward that it’s just like fuck this, fuck you, fuck everyone. Fuck fuck fuckkkkkkkk.

But I’ve really just been in in a spot I’ve never imagined myself in.

So insecure, and kind of alone. Even if I’m not alone, sometimes what I go through, it feels like I am. It feels like it’s all I am, all I’ll ever be.

And I know that’s not true. Well, the other side does. But then it just gets irritated, and annoyed, and lashes out. And huffs and puffs and blows the house down.

I know it’s what I struggle with, because I know hundreds of thousands of others struggle with it too. But, I don’t deal with their shit every minute of every day.

Just mine. Just my shit. And, that’s probably fucking good. Cuz, I can’t even deal with my own, let alone anyone elses’.

And so I’ve just been searching. Over and over and over.

My whole life.

Literally, since I was 8 or 9 years old, I’ve just been bouncing from insecurity to insecurity. From fear to self doubt. From self sabotage, to foot-in-mouth syndrome.

Trying my best to cover up whatever is wrong with me. Whatever was wrong with me in that moment. Even if there was nothing wrong, I FELT like there was. And so I tried to cover it up too. Patch it. Postpone it.

Prepare it. Practice it.

And search for a way to avoid it. An obstacle, an apartment, a man.

A moment. Any fucking thing.

I’ve spent so much time bouncing between different parts of me that are split, and working on opposite sides, that I’ve been in constant turmoil with myself for too long, and instead of spending time fixing me, I spent time patching me with anything that I could to numb the pain and suspend the real confrontation.

And as I face the hard truth that I’ll be 40 in May, I’ve decided that it comes with other hard truths as well. It HAS to.

It starts with,

I can.

I am.

I will.

I deserve.

I must.

I accept.

I forgive.

And, I refuse.