A Thought On Identity.

On a regular day, I'll get up, get out of the house. I'm carrying around my passport because we have an identification law since a while back, which means I'll have to show it if I'm found possibly involved in something that goes against the law. I'll show my buspass with photograph and name to the bus driver so he'll allow me on board. I'll get to the station and use my bank pass and PIN ID so the ATM knows it's me and will give me some of my money. I'll get to work and get out my work security pass - again, with photo - which tells the building I'm allowed inside. I'll log into my PC with a username and a password. Almost all my software requires passwords. The servers I connect to require my password and also check if my PC's IP address is allowed. Some of the sites I visit in and outside my home check my IP and/or cookies. Then there's of course the various sites I maintain, and the various forums I visit - they all require a username and password as well. If I want to get cigarettes in a bar or something, I need a coin that verifies I'm old enough to purchase them. If I have bills to pay, I sign cheques with a signature that says it's me. My cats sniff my hands, clothes, and verify it's me, everytime I go home. And that's just everything I see directly - there's of course countless administrative and other processes behind the screens that pass information about me along, like my social security number, etc.

All day long people, animals and machines all over this country are checking my identity. Nice to know that they at least seem to know who I am, since as of late I'm clearly less sure than they are.

Although I'm not exactly sure where I end and other stuff, other roles, and the rest of the world starts, I know one thing. It kind of bothers me that there's a few people butting in on my problems. They mostly mean well (although at least one I'm suspecting is more meddlesome out of a need to feel good about herself - no one that's currently reading this, though, because she's much too concerned with herself to digitally-stalk me by reading my personal blog posts I think), and it's kind of ungrateful of me, but I know one thing. I'm only writing and talking about my trouble to make a bit more sense of them - for myself. Because it's MY PROBLEMS. MINE. I may not be sure who I am, but I know that *I* own these problems. Don't make them yours. You're not allowed to. I have to go through this myself, and I don't actually require help. Never required it and never will. The pathos and angst and whatnot, that's most likely part of either the emotions on backorder, or of the process of working through them. Back off, get your own emotional mess.