Am I fake?

I feel fake…why do I feel as if I’m fake. Not the kind of faking or lying which is granted in our quota or survival for a day. I’m talking about being honest to myself.

why do I keep wondering if I’m genuinely me or my entire existence is fake.. whatever I do I feel as if I can never understand its depth..never truly get the essence. I feel as if I’m alll about the surface. It feels weird that I like everything. Something has to be extremely low quality for me to not like it or outta my comfort zone.

I’m clueless. There’s no answer to this question. There’s no proper points or facts that I can debate myself with. Whenever I try to study me, why do other people come in or other things come in? People find so much depth in things that they like. They know the names, the originality, the fun, the development and the even the downsides of the stuff they like. Why do I not?! What do I even like in the first place?

The answer to that is everything. I cannot possibly know everything about everything and that’s exactly what my point is. why am I just dipping my fingers in every possible thing I can find?!

It just feels as if Everytime I do something its superficial. It’s understated. Alwaysss! I find myself not knowing anything about anything. How can a person like so many things at a time and still do not know the depth of anything. It’s just so frustrating!

Just like this essay which is going on circles about the same thing. This whole thread of thoughts in my mind, they feel like sand slipping away from my mind and 20 years Later I’ll be at the same thrrad possibly a million miles longer than this when I still like everything about everything and still know nothing about anything.

I am trying soo hard right now to find that one point that doesn’t make me feel all of this, so that I do not cry the whole night over my expensive under eye cream and go to sleep and not look like a panda at work. Do people like me even exist? I literally do not feel my limbs right now and yet I’m laughing like what’s this am I even writing about!?

Unable to answer for myself… I typed up in Google (my truest bff) -“why do I love everything ? I found two quora answers that made sense and made me think for a bit.. there was one line in one of the answers that -“when you truly live there are certainly others in your life and when you do this very well.. the line between you and others is diffused” this didn’t really answer my question but now can feel my limbs a bit. 0.0345 percent to be precise. Lol.

Reading that line and waking my almost numb neurons to do some serious thinking about this until my eyes are cried out loud to please end this post ( its 3 am hee hee), so anyways this thinking I did made me realize that I’m all about people and when you’re all about people you cannot be all about things! This made me understand a bit that the answer I’m searching for is me – myself & I. I am all about people!!

Me, the one who gets to know people, who understands them, their depth, has fun with them, helps them, is kind to them, sees through their wall – their true selves, sees them change for good, has their share of downsides with them.

After this lonnngggg session of writing up, I now understand that I am not fake. When I started writing this, I didn’t even know what I’d write about. I was hopeless and for sure belived that I’d have to cry myself to sleep today without an answer.

But now I feel that I had to just look and hope is just camoflouged in everything that you can find.

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