included in the box of letters I was going through was a letter within a letter, where a friend had sent one back to me years later. she wanted me to see what I'd written. this is a sampling of a younger me trying to talk about the chaos of identity and those fleeting fragments of your personality that don't make the final cut:
"I like what you said about feeling like you're in a personality trench. Imagine a trench warfare scenario as a metaphor for the dissipation of the life pieces that emerge above ground. Each is alive for a moment - in its now, in its prime. Randomly punished with death for even attempting to surface. But that's the darker view of it. Sometimes there's just... aspects, I guess, facets, other faces that are part of you, just not the day-to-day (have-to-be) you. They can be some of the best faces you'll ever wear, but they just don't "take" with your ego, brain, energy, soul... like an organ transplant gone awry. I've never thought of it like this before, but I'm not the person who is the composite of all the most important and influential experiences of my past years. And I'm not sure why. There's been all kinds of intensely *alive* moments that should build a better Ben, but I don't think it works that way. Maybe they're all gone and you need to start over every time you wake up in the morning and flick back out of your subconscious."