This is an anonymous story collected from the public as part of the Human Archive Project

I've always known that I am ugly, and that has brought with it loneliness all through my life. This ugliness has been confirmed again and again by the society I was raised in, through years and years of bullying, harassment, staring and laughing.

Then came the realisation that I am ugly and queer, and double the abuse - from the established heterosexual norms, and also my queer peers. Children have always whispered and laughed at my appearance. Cars driving by at night throw glass bottles and food out their windows at me. It's predictably resulted in a lot of anxiety, depression, and isolation.

Regardless, I made it my mission to thrive and to live. I found my tribe, I found love, passion, reasons to keep going. But over the years they have all disappeared. My tribe have all moved away, my love turned to heartbreak, passions seem pointless now and my reasons to keep going have literally died. All this, compounded with the daily reminder of my inherent ugliness, has me at a unique point that I've never been in. Not suicidal, never suicidal, but something I can't quite put to words. Tired to my bones and lost in a fog. I don't know what to do, how to go on, how long I can manage, but I have faith in myself to keep trying.

Even just to see the sunrise every night. I've made it this far with this much against me, who knows what could be next. I'll face it. I'll face it all, and I will be gloriously ugly and unapologetically queer while facing it. My grotesque existence is an act of beautiful defiance.