Deserving

You ask me how I'm doing and I say everything is fine and it is - nothing, nothing is wrong - and yet I keep finding it difficult to breathe. So filled with a gnawing desire for solitude, self-loathing, and gloom, reasons for which cannot be found but the feelings existing nonetheless. Existing  and stifling and ever present. You look at me with eyes filled with love but when I see them all I want is to turn away and push you further because I could never feel deserving. I see in myself no redemption for I am neither considerate nor sympathetic nor benevolent, and yet you stay patient and supportive and kind. You, you who have been with me for near a decade and you, you who have been by my side for not even a year; you, the collective you who have been intertwined with me for whatever reason, for whatever duration, you, I don't deserve you.