I keep dying and that isn’t the problem

I’ve had a series of ego-diminishing experiences happen to me this week. I stood in the middle of an art studio drinking a beer with the artist of the abstract paintings hanging on the wall. He pulled out a sketch of a woman’s face which I thought was a photograph. That’s when my ego died. Two days later, my sister made me listen to vocals of a local singer who she said looks like me, and I had to literally walk out of the room. I died there again. I keep dying and that isn’t the problem. I keep dying and I wake up the same person. I mean when the fuck do I get reborn again? I stood in a cold shower this morning for ten minutes but my reflection still looks the same. My laugh still sounds the same. I wrote a blog post but it still sounded the same. Where the fuck are my wings? I’m trying to peel off my skin, but my ego keeps coming back to life. Maybe I need the sun to kiss me until my face melts off. 

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