But, no matter how much I struggle to accept and love myself, I know there is hope. I know that my heart is changing for the better, though the process has been and will continue to be very painful and gradual. There are moments, as fleeting and easy to miss as they are, where I don't feel so much anger and disgust towards myself and the circumstances I was dealt at birth. I can't say I ever feel very proud of anything, but I can say that in those short, sweet moments, I am at least content and fond of the life I've lived thus far. Up until recently, I never had such hopeful moments. And, as time goes on, those moments become less and less rare. 

I still have a hell of a long way to go before I'm even remotely okay with myself for the most part. But, hey, that's what therapy, grace, and loving family and friends are for. However slowly I am going, there's no doubt that I am growing less angry and less resentful. But, to do that, I first have to let myself feel and express such horrendous thoughts and emotions. I can't process them if I just shut them down and bottle them up. Eventually, they will come back to bite me in the ass if I avoid them at all costs. I must go through the process of letting go in order to learn how to love and accept myself and the life I was given. 

I'm not sure if many people understand that accepting yourself first requires you to grieve over the things you wish you were (but weren't). That grieving process is tough, and (at least to me) feels very similar to grieving the loss of a loved one. Indeed, there's a part of me that feels like I am burying the person I've always wanted to be, but could never and will never be. I will never have a perfectly normal, healthy, average body for as long as my flesh lives. I am stuck in this sick, disabled, diseased body until God calls my soul home. There's no way around that. I just must accept that, and accepting it is very, very hard, and even more excruciating. 

But, I must admit that there's a part of myself I've never resented or had an issue with: my stubborn refusal to quit (unless I'm absolutely fucking forced to, but even then, I still put up a serious fight). However, I'm sure most people (particularly those who have known me for at least a few years) have been alarmed by my stubbornness and tenacity at some point or another. I'd be a multi-millionaire if I had a quarter for every time someone's told me something along the lines of, "Don't do too much, now" or, "You need to relax and get some rest.", or "Quit beating yourself up. Perfection isn't real." 

I've never taken their advice unless I was absolutely forced to. Even then, I never accepted their help or advice with much grace. I've always bared my teeth at the mere idea of slowing down or taking things easy, or accepting help from others (even when I desperately needed it), or being less than what I consider perfect. I've never felt comfortable being sedentary or taking serious time to rest, even during the times when I was coughing up bloody bits of my own lungs. I have a need to stay active, stay moving, and keep progressing, even without any particular goals in mind. I just need something to do to keep my mind and body stimulated, or else depression and severe anxiety seep in and completely wreck me.