I am a brain. A bundle of mushy cords all stuffed inside of a skull, as if that will prevent it from tangling. In fact, I'm only ten percent of a brain. I am small particles within a tangly, mushy blob.
But I am more than a brain. I am a pair of wide feet with terrible circulation. A pair of arms with reasonably flexible skin, judging by the stretch marks. I am a big butt and big thighs. I am a button nose and chapstick-coated lips. I am vocal cords. I am a body with muscles and bruises and a black eye.
And that's not all. I am 18 years worth of photographs. Two and a half journals with missing pages and ticket stubs pasted inside. I am a striped afghan with a hole in the bottom left side. I am a box of Corn Flakes. I am a closet full of clothes. I am a collage of things and fibers and cells and nerves and dreams and nightmares and mushy cords.
My name is Tessa Hatchett. I am a college student. I am an employee. I am a friend, a sister, and a daughter. I am agnostic. I am an intellectual and a philosopher, but I am still a child: goofy and needy and fragile and forgiving. I am a fat bikini-wearer with the will to love herself. I am emotional and logical. I am a piece in the life puzzle of hundreds of people. I am a person. I am so much more than I thought I was twenty-four hours ago when I was cried that I was worth nothing. In fact, I am so many things, I am nearly everything. You are everything, too, and that is definitely worth something.