I think it would help me to believe that I am a loser but alas. I know that I am exceptional, superlative, remarkable. The kind of conviction required to operate the sheer volume of my work is tremendous. And you know how special that makes me.

If I could convince myself that I am a hopeless loser, however, I would not demand so much in return. If I knew I was a loser, I could relax. No more anxiety over the difference between good and strong, between hard work and talent, between circumstances and fate. I am both sides but would no longer need to be either, neither. If only I could collapse in the black hole between the diodes instead of insisting on mastering both.

If I could just convince myself the thing I fear was true—a fear which consumes me, numbs my lips, breaks my heart, breaks my heart, breaks my heart, breaks my heart—if I could convince myself that I deserve nothing, I might finally learn to stop wanting what refuses to become mine.