feeling the same way all over again

fordi eg har lyst å sei nåkke, men ikkje veit ke eg skal sei:

"Soul destroying. Like self-destructive."
"Yes, I experienced being truly selfless, and it was fucking terrifying. (...) Connecting with other people; losing yourself in them; becoming "at one". It's hell. (...) I didn't realise: ripping out your soul and offering to share it around isn't at all like giving communion, or taking some old clothes to the charity shop. It's like going into the park at night and taking off all your clothes and waiting to be pissed on."
(...)
"People can't be all bad," I say.
"That's not what I'm saying. I...I don't know what I'm saying. (....) The self destructs; the self breaks down. It's about exploding the self until there's nothing left any more. But I couldn't do it. I completely failed. I broke down, sure, but then before I'd even had a chance to look into the abyss and see what it was like, I started putting myself back together again. I tried being "normal": drinking and swearing. It was quite fun. But now I'm not sure who I am. I use this word "I", and I don't know what it means. I don't know where it begins and ends. I don't even know what it's made of."

Sitatet e frå boka eg lese no: "The end of Mr. Y" av Scarlett Thomas.
(Som forøvrig er fantastisk, og det beste eg har lest siden Jonathan Strange og Herr Norell.)

eg syns berre det sa litt PANG inni meg når eg leste det, fordi det var så godt sagt. dessuten e eg notorisk fascinert av identitet og kjensler og kjærleik og og og.
det har forresten vore ein fantastisk dag :) håpa den i mårra blir like fin!