Dear ghost,
Without a doubt, I, too, am "terrified of life," and also, "ashamed of being seen". Despite the feral dread, I ravenously suck the nectar off my existence. I trust that the marrow shall be sweet and savory. Like every effort shall be rewarded. Like the world is ultimately and utterly fair. So, despite my terror and shame, I have chosen to believe that my presence is a force to be reckoned. Like the essence are at my disposal. Like I control the muscle of my hair. Yes, I am dying inside but even the walking dead smells the flower.
Yours even as I fear to be.