The past two weeks have felt like death. Yesterday I finally came up for air. I am so tired, but relieved.

Music and macrame have been my saving grace. I know I’m like 20 years late here, I discovered “Thank U” by Alanis Morissette and I listen to it on repeat and cry. Somehow it helped inspire my latest song, “Maybe”.

Maybe I will never be stable
Maybe I will never be well
Maybe I will always walk through this life
With one foot in hell

So on and so forth.

My existence is an enigma. I am a complex puzzle that I’m damn tired of trying to piece together. It’s exhausting. I try so hard to get “better”, to find healing, and it often feels like my efforts seriously backfire.

I know the blood keeps pouring out of me and we have no idea what the hell is going on with my hormones and too many times I want to kill myself because the thought of continuing in this body at this time with my current resources feels like its own type of death. But maybe all of that is ok.

I’ve tried to do the right things but I am not rewarded. Maybe the right things are illusionary garbage. Maybe it has nothing to do with the right things and everything to do with my perspective.

Maybe Love is not held hostage until we show we are trying our damned hardest to be good. Maybe Love doesn’t give a shit what we do. Maybe Love doesn’t care if you’re acting delusional yet refuse to see a therapist for a variety of reasons. Maybe Love doesn’t care that you’re very sick but you resist seeking help from professionals because you’re pretty sure they are as full of shit as the last professionals who couldn’t help you. Maybe Love doesn’t care that you say FUCK IT to everyone else’s esteemed offerings of “help” and “healing”. Maybe Love is already in you at the moment you say FUCK IT and give up. Maybe thats when you finally meet Love and realize you were never worthy or unworthy, that there is no standard to be measured by, that it doesn’t matter what the fuck you do or what happens to you, Love is always gonna love you.

Maybe that’s true healing- to know that you don’t need to get better or feel better or attempt to get better in order to experience Love. Maybe true healing is a process of accepting this fragile shell we walk around in is destined to fail and that it’s perfectly righteous to be mad about it and not count your every damn blessing.

How the hell can we transform our pain to pleasurable gratitude if we don’t take the time to actually let ourselves feel the full weight of our pain? Surrender to the pain. Let it destroy your illusions. Get mad about it, because you can’t hide from yourself, you KNOW you’re fucking mad. Go ahead and feel it. Find a way to express it to yourself, to God, to Love itself. Rage like the wounded animal you are. And realize that too is Love.

Its ok. All of it is ok. We can’t get most of life right. And if its impossible to get it all right, then that automatically means its not necessary and that its totally ok to fuck up your entire life. What, you think Love is going to abandon you because you didn’t do all your holy self-care rituals this week? Because you fell off whatever ridiculous wagon you were trying to ride? Because you skipped your therapy appointment or stubbornly refuse to take your meds? You think Love is going to abandon you when you’re acting reckless because you’re just plain SICK TO DEATH OF IT ALL??

I know this: Love is still there in the middle of our every bad decision and wrong turn, looking upon us with no judgement, holding us despite our own disbelief.

I don’t have answers for the shadow times, except maybe “don’t resist it”. What could I have done differently the last two weeks? Given myself more grace. That’s it. That is the only thing I could have done, and I did as much of that as I was literally able. That’s why I wrote “Maybe”. To finally give up on my Ideal Self once and for all. To finally release the pressure to be something that I currently am not. To accept myself just as I am, fucking crazy and starving and know that even in that deranged state of mind and body, I am still Love incarnate.

So what am I going to do about my health moving forward?

At the moment… absolutely nothing. I’ve tried doing a whole lot of somethings for a whole lot of years and it hasn’t really worked out. So now I’m going to try nothing for a time (how long? I don’t know?). I am going to try accepting my situation as being as fucking shitty as it really is and being ok with it. I’m going to stop resisting my crazy, stop resisting my exhaustion, stop tensing when my menstrual cup is full up for the 6th time in a row, stop whining when my cervical mucus kicks in way too early. I’m gonna just say YEP I’M PRETTY HORMONALLY FUCKED UP and carry on.

I’m going to stop pressuring myself to heal. Because that pressure is the opposite of healing. Until I can drop the pressure and release the panic, I have no business hunting for answers. I’m just scaring them away with my rabid intensity.

There is deep relief on an existential level that, despite the lack of relief on the physical and emotional planes, Love isn’t waiting on me for anything. I don’t have to prove anything or do anything to become worthy of Love or respect or even support. I am a human being in a lot of pain, and that in itself demands the presence of Love and compassion.

I’m going to end this by telling you about one of my favorite movies, Silver Linings Playbook. The story follows the relationship of two people struggling with their mental health. The guy keeps wanting to pretend he’s fine, trying so hard to become a new and improved version of himself to win back his exwife who cheated on him. He was totally delusional, and it only caused more problems. But his friend knows she’s fucked up, she fully owns and accepts her bad habits and is far more stable than the guy- because she isn’t fighting her reality. You realize she actually has a great deal of self-compassion and self-respect. I so admire that and wish to be more like her, but I must admit I tend to act more like the guy in this story. I’m always trying so hard to improve. I’m fighting myself, fighting my reality, and its utterly exhausting. I don’t want to do it anymore. I need a break from trying to be well.

Let me simply accept all the things that are fucked up about me while accepting that who I really am within the insanity and blood loss is perfectly ok. I don’t need to change anything about this fucked up shell of my existence in order to be ok – in order be Loved.

Maybe it’s all ok.