Maybe I’m one who doesn’t actively participate in life. There is no Me. I don’t know how to have things happen to me, to experience anything myself. I’m there with others in situations that aren’t my own, feelings that don’t belong to, or originate from me. And I like it; this is how I choose to live.

Possibly explaining my lack of passion and a favorite color, my fear of eating good food and liking it and wanting it again, the underlying tint of inadequacy, and my constant destructive overthinking.