Sometimes I feel I should write, because otherwise I'll forget who I am. Of course nothing's really definite. I’m not really describable. Adjectives don't fit me. I’m not really here. But I need to preserve myself anyway, and I don't ever want to lose what form of a self I do have, or... appear to have.

No one really fits me, and sometimes I talk to myself because I’m the only one worth talking to. The only one who knows what the hell I’m talking about, if you know what I mean. Sometimes I think I let myself drift a little too far, but it's okay. there's nothing I can do about it, so I shouldn't worry. it shouldn't....

How can I be alienated, when I’m not really here? If I’m not really here, are they? If I don't have a self, do they? My perception puts them together into little vignettes, and so in my mind, they're as good as there; but in their minds, are they as void as I am, just as expansively, infinitely, horrifically nonexistent?

Or is it just that they don't care? They don't focus on a "self," and so their actions are all that matters, as they don't matter to themselves, so their thought doesn't reach so far within. They don't have to, or need to, and it never really occurs to them. So, naturally, to the outside world, they are a "being," but they're just as empty, formless as the rest of us. They just don't bother, or care enough to think about it.

So why do I care? What is my fixation on the essence of my self that only leads me into frustration and loneliness? What caused it? I’m not set in my ways, as there are no ways to be set into, no train of thought to be worn down with many pacings. Each day is a new direction, or a variation on a theme. but the theme seems to elude me.

An identity crisis is a comical thing. It's natural to look to others, consciously and subconsciously, and draw something from the outside that you can't find within. And anyone will tell you, you have to be yourself. There's that formless world again… what if you aren't a self, and what if you have no desire, or tendency to imitate the people around you? What if you'd rather clothe yourself in the psyche that made you what you are? What if the 'self' you want to be perceived as, the vignette in other people's minds, the theme for your every day life, is something inconceivable, indescribable, and imperceptible, except through the mind?

What if you want people to see who you really are? What if nothing you say or do is enough? What if no one can ever understand? What if there's nothing you can do about it...