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I have 5 days of solitude. My roommate comes back on Sunday, and until then I can do whatever I want. I have responsibilities, but I also have headspace. For the longest time I haven’t been able to pinpoint exactly who I am. It was survival, honestly. I just pretended to be like the people around me. Adopting mannerisms and quirks became the norm for me. Anything that was left of the person I had been was no longer appealing to me. I had to get rid of it all. For years, I’ve had a thousand different faces for a thousand different people, but now I just want mine. The problem is that I don’t know what it looks like. Sometimes its soft, gentle, and speaks in mellow tones. Sometimes its rough, textured, scarred, bruised, grinning with teeth, and takes charge. Sometimes, there’s the nothing that I try so hard to get rid of. I know that under everything, I don’t care about anyone or anything. I’m simply experiencing things because that’s what life is for. Don’t worry, I’m nowhere near finished (give me around 70 years), but all these people and places and events and things are just sensations to me. I wish I could go back to when I didn’t see right through everything. I wish I could have lied to myself just a bit longer. I wish I didn’t pick up that very first face. I guess all I can do is get started on making my own face. It’ll be an endeavor, and I expect it to take some time, but I’m sure if I put in the effort I can create an identity that doesn’t feel so much like a copy of another. And when I’m done, I’ll look in the mirror and smile.
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