When I am my most fucked up, I feel, I am my most honest. At that point, when the very idea of an inhibition melts away— that is when I am my truest self. And whatever you take “fucked up” to mean, that is what you take it to mean. No one else can fully understand. Despite what you would like to call it, it goes by its own name—and that is the name of what I feel right now, as I’m writing this. Not even there. Yet. Not even remotely. I am partially everything.