I like myself. I always have. When I was 100 pounds heavier, when I didn't love pictures of myself or looking in a mirror -- two things I no longer mind -- I still liked the essence of who I was, who I am.
I have no regrets in this life. None. Everything I've done and experienced, all the missteps I've made -- and there are plenty -- have gotten me where I am today, and I like where I am, though you wouldn't know it by the fit I threw last night when I came back to bed and some dog had taken my place and I started hissing about I fucking hate you all, I'm leaving.
I'll always be like that. I'll never be content. That's okay.
A long time ago Michael said your mistakes are cute. I get what he meant. I wasn't a drunk. My mother never feared picking up the phone to find out I was dead. I was, and in many ways still am, innocent. And I'm very, very okay with that.
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