I do not know who I am

 I do not know who I am. I do not know what I am. I don't know if I am. I think this is who I am. Someone who does not know. Someone or something. I do not know what is real. I do not think I need to know. I don't think I exist. I don't think that I am. I don't think any of this is real. Not in the sense that we imagine it to be. We think things are ideas. We think there is a universe full of things. We firmly believe this. Our very life depends on it. Without it we are ruined. I cannot believe such a thing because I do not exist. Not in the sense that others believe they exist. I am not an idea. I am not an image. I am not dependent on explicit definition. You should be worried if you are. Because if you are then you may fall apart. Castles built on sand. Not that it matters anyway. Illusions don't bleed. Nor do they gather dust if not tended to. Who the fuck exists when it seems to me that everyone is a fragile glass frame that they carry around in front of their face with both their hands? We are not our bodies, we are not our thoughts. We are not these images we carry around in anxiety. We are so afraid they they will be cracked, damaged, dropped, broken. When these things cannot happen because the frame is not a real frame, it is an image in the mind that we are utterly convinced is real. "I am so and so. I do this. I like this. I am this. This is my job. This is my family. This is who I am. Don't say this about me, but please say this about me." We are stuck in slivers of our imagination, when who we really are is something completely different. Who we are is not an I. It is not a me. You cannot tie you poor ego to it. You dreams and ambitions. Your narcissism. You cannot grasp it because you truly have no power. You are a fiction. A sprawling empty story. A story that bores me to death. Concealing itself because if it revealed itself it would die and the fun would end. It would mean facing what isn't pleasant. It would mean seeing things at face value. It would mean acknowledging the terrifying uncertainty of your limited awareness and ability. Your probable eventual death. The unknown. I am tired of feeding your ego with flattery. I am tired of being tied to your story. I am tired of being stuck in this persistent and lifeless circus. This world as you know it is a dream. It is an image. It does not exist outside of your imagination. Life is so much more than we think it is. I want to be alive. I want to be free. I want to live my own life without the burdens of chronic insanity. I want to breathe the air, to be alone. I want the world to leave me alone. I want to have the power to leave this world behind and never return to it. I cannot say this is who I am and who we are because you will think I am talking about you, and I am not.