Unworthy.

My thoughts belong to me. No one else. They are the only thing in this world that I can truly call my own. No one can steal them, no one can see them, no one can punish me for them.

Thoughts are powerful things. You can't control them—they just appear in your brain, flashing across your mind like lightning. They can be your sanctuary, your haven from the outside world. Or they can become your own private hell, a dizzying downward spiral that drives your farther and farther into yourself.

Sometimes I have thoughts that scare me—thoughts about others, thoughts about myself. Thoughts that make me fear that I might be turning into my father.

Sometimes I have a really good thought—one worth writing down, worth sharing with others. But I don't write it down. Somehow, writing them down makes the ideas living entities, rather than passing wisps of smoke in my addled brain. And once you breathe life into those words, they are free to roam the earth with their startling intensity, forever available for mankind to see and to judge.

I cannot take that kind of risk.

You see, ever since I was a small child, I have felt this weight upon me, this feeling of unworthiness. I have always felt that if anyone could truly see me as I am—if they could see the real me—then they would run away. They would not like what they saw. It would scare them, perhaps even disgust them. Sometimes, I think they can see the ugliness in me, despite my best attempts to cover it up. I try my hardest to overcome, to atone for my sins and keep the beast at bay. I try to prove myself worthy, to prove that I am not the monster that my father was, to prove that my lineage will not determine my own character.

I have spent my entire life trying to prove that I am a good person, that I can rise above the hateful pedigree that I was born to. Sometimes, I think I have succeeded. Sometimes I feel that I am simply one step away from becoming a monster, from becoming the very person that I loathe.

Don't get me wrong—I've done a lot of good things in my life. But it just never seems to be enough. No matter what I do, I cannot overcome the tidal wave of unworthiness that seems to crush me when I least expect it. This guilt, this pin-prick in my soul, keeps pushing me onwards, relentlessly chasing me through my darkest dreams and deepest thoughts.

I've never told anybody about this feeling. Not even the shrinks that Captain has forced me to see. Not even my partner, who is my closest friend, at times my mirror-image.

I keep my thoughts to myself—deep within my mind, in the only place where they are safe.

"Elliot."

I turn to look at my partner, whose dark brown eyes are filled with concern.

"Are we going or what?" She motions to the street.

I nod and put the squad car into gear, "Yep. We're going."

"Don't forget to turn on the lights," she easily reaches over and flips on the switch. Immediately the air is filled with siren wails as red and blue flash across the car's shiny hood.

I give her an agitated look, "I know how to operate the car, Liv."

"Sure thing, buddy," she answers in a distracted air. She is busy looking over a file in her hand. "126 North Avenue."

"Yes, Miss Daisy," I reply. Despite my momentary agitation, I can't help but smile at my partner's antics. She can be so motherly at times, it's overbearing. Not that I would ever tell her that. That's another one of those thoughts that belongs solely to me.

~Le Fin