Identity crises and the failed ability to connect with my own peers and community.

I blame it on books; and I blame it on the fact I am a writer of some sort.

 

This entire “I only exist in books” syndrome of mine is not really about my love for reading, it’s more about how my personal character is built, you see I have had a roller coaster for a life, and I’ve had my share of experience both good and bad, I also have a strong self-awareness and a slight obsession character development.

 

I treat myself like a character in books and novels, I take my life as a story being written, every active and non-active individual in life also have their own story and characteristics. I’ve yet to find the proper ending for this movie like life, since I just recently reached the plot.

But I care about me here and I care about my own development more than any plots or twists (though I have a feeling I am the plot twist and the arch) which I should be if you think about it, Afterall this is my life I am living and talking about.

 

But this all got triggered one afternoon talking with one of my “eccentric” friends over coffee, this friend of mine might be the only one of my friends I can talk with about almost anything and everything and he would be able to keep a conversation.

We were talking about me, and how I’m developing into a reserved form of my true self; short answer… Trauma but that’s a long topic I prefer not to go into details in now.

Regardless, my friend said something within the line of “The person you’re becoming is a work of fiction, character like you only exist in books” and I won’t lie this felt like a complement in away.

Though his words were holding an accusation of a false personality and lack of realism.

 

See, I know myself, I remember my history since I am the type of person who saves everything; I write constantly, I have kept a diary for most of my life, and I journal to no extent (stories that won’t make it on this blog) and I know about perspectives more than anyone around me, I know how people view me and I know how I see myself.

 

I am not perfect, but I have perfected my personality as per my identity and experience, I have become the exact person I knew I would be this is not a happy story for this character of mine has many flaws and darkness attached to its hip.

Being good is hard work, and smiling through depression is a skill, but disconnecting from falsehood of this world and building an ideal world for myself and myself alone is no crime.

As long as I understand myself, believe in it and trust it’s true, honestly that is the only thing that matters.

 

A classic if I may say, but not in a classic way.