I write about myself in third person.

She holds the glass with two hands as if it might float away or fall if she isn't careful. And she smiles at strangers even when she has a dozen reasons why she should curl up and cry. Sometimes she sings and sometimes it's pretty. She doesn't know how to touch other people but she has gotten very good at telling them how much she cares. She is learning to be brave but she's always been strong and resilient. She looks in the mirror and wonders if anyone will ever love her for who she is. Will ever want her. It takes her forever to eat anything and she gets excited over silly little things. She loves hugs: the longer the better. She can't see the way other people see her and that's why she tells others exactly how they seem to her. But only the good things. Sometimes she feels beautiful. She likes to cook things and feed people. She hates being alone. She fears that her love would be too much. That is would smother instead of comfort. She is so ready to be someone's only one. She pops her knuckles. She hates making decisions. She loves the way it feels when her muscles are tired from working hard. She misses the feeling of the sun on her skin. She is so unobservant she is almost disabled and it terrible at paying attention to anything. She has recently learned a new kind of love. She thinks the worst part about crying is that she can't smile at the same time. It takes her a long time to trust people. Usually. She wishes she could dance. She is trying to be the best version of herself she can be. She sees the best in people. She hopes they see the good in her too.