I am deathly afraid that I'm losing my own identity. The things I loved and cared about so deeply, even only a year or two ago, already I'm indifferent to, and I regularly change my mind about things I've believed as long as I can remember. Any way I change, in isolation, is perfectly reasonable and unremarkable, but taken altogether it's as though I'm actively trying not to be myself any more. I feel like some day I'll wake up, look in the mirror, and see a total stranger looking back at me. It's not even a question of what I've gained or lost - I accept that most of the changes were for the best - it's the principle of it, that I'm not existing consistently enough.

When I said I'm afraid of losing my own identity, perhaps that's not strictly true. If I were in an accident and had complete retrograde amnesia, for instance, that would be perfect; every part of me would be perfectly encapsulated, unchangeable forever, in the form of Me Before The Accident. I'd have a blank slate, and it wouldn't matter if I were different from before, or if I changed afterwards - it's to be expected, coming to terms with something so traumatic. But the gradual, continuous change of everyday life is somehow abhorrent. It's like a degenerative illness.

I wish I was just afraid of concrete things like heights or spiders rather than this stupid existentialist bullshit.