The Death of Me

We are so attached to being something. To being someone. When we meet new people, it's best if we can tell them that we are something which is socially considered good. Until we find something that fits in this category we may find ourselves anxious and uncomfortable. Many of us devote most of our energy to creating a life that fits into this category of what we socially perceive is good. We have mostly stopped questioning whether or not it is good. We feel lost if without this identity and when we encounter a situation where this identity doesn't fit we feel anxious don't know how to behave. We are slaves to these ideas of who I am. We are so consumed by fulfilling this identity that we scarcely realize how much torment we constantly endure. How anxious we always are even when we have the job, the career, the home, the life that we were told to have and that we think we need to have. We live in ideas of who we think we are and what we think is good when we don't know who we are or what is good. How do you think this affects the world? Are these ideas that we are thinking real? Are they who we really are? 

I think most of us barely live at all. Maybe I am deluded. I think most of us are so caught up in ideas of who we are and what is real that we don't really experience what is happening to us. We aren't really an us because we are so divided within ourself in our mind. We are so disconnected from our experience. From our senses and our feelings. We experience slivers and glimmers of what is happening. We consciously perceive of slivers of what is happening. Dismal. Obviously not everyone is like this and we don't not experience life this much equally throughout our day or behavior. But this tendency is very real, very common, and seems to be spreading throughout the world. 

Who am I? What is real? Is what I think real? Is what I think about myself real? Am I these thoughts about myself and my life? Do you really want slimers and glimmers of life? Do you want to be the idea of a man or a woman, or do you want to be a living breathing human being? I can't take it anymore. I can't stand festering in these diseased shells that we call our lives. I am not who you think I am. I do not belong in "this" world. This "world" we live in is not a world at all. It's an idea, mostly painful idea, that doesn't exist. Do you know that ideas are not real? Everything you think about yourself is made up. Not real. You are not the way you imagine yourself to be. The "world" we live in is a complete fucking fantasy. I do not exist.