When I was younger, I hated the smell, the touch, of brand new clothes. I could never understand why. It just didn't fit right, didn't feel right. It made me nervous, as if a harsh spotlight would suddenly be thrown on me. I felt guilty, and yet this guilt was incomprehensible. Irrational. Wrong. Was it wrong? I would buy a shirt out of anger, pissed off and frustrated, and push it down on me and force myself to wear it, until it was old, and faded, and stained and torn. Until it was as good as dirt. And then I would love how soft the fabric felt against my skin.

It is not. It is not that. I know now. It is, the feeling of absolute unworthiness which I have always struggled with. Like dirt. Like filth. Like mushroom clouds of grey that blind my eyes and are filled with salty tears that weigh down on my chest so I lose my breath and which penetrate into my veins and clog my blood so I become pressingly loaded and encumbered but yet, do not burst.

Filth must hide itself in dark unreachable corners. There are people who walk right straight into a room with such a startling presence that they command the attention of everyone. I don't want that glow, as glorious as it is. I want to slink in unobtrusively, slide into my seat at the back of the class, fade into the background, and watch, and wait, like an unnoticed thief who steals snippets of forgettable conversations and small gestures, and maybe, disappear without a trace.

Tonight, I feel like a flighty skittish black bird, where the slightest sound causes me to jump out of my skin and scramble. Tonight, I have grown tired, of being tired. And then I tell myself, "You are alive." And then I tell myself, "You are loved." And then I tell myself, "You are never alone." But of course, I think to myself. But of course. And then I am thankful. And then I giggle to myself- this utterly loony act of talking to myself. It is absurdly lucid and sane.

We all have our own little cross to bear. Little battles, little losses and triumphs.

Rather than question just how, You could possibly love someone like me (because that would be an insult to You), I will tell myself, that if I am good enough for You, I am good enough for this world. All that I am, all that I have, every breath that I take, every moment I'm awake, all of me, all of me is Yours.