Ought I to give narcotics a try?

So i've figured it out. I've figured it out: my obsession with stories. Because i loathe myself, from whom I cannot depart. But stories, they are about someone else. Not that I turn to literature as an escape--because there is nothing to escape. I want a vacation, a vacation from myself. How do i step out of myself, leave myself here, while I go off there? Off, off, and away.

My friend comes back from her travels and she has stories of exotic cultures and bizarre customs. Me, i leave this place, but i cannot leave myself in this place. so, I feel the same things there as i feel here, I see the same things there as I see here, I eat the same things there as I eat here. It's all the same; I'm so bored. I want to feel the way you feel, do the way you do, eat the way you eat, and taste the way you taste.

And for a moment, if the writer were good, she would take me, possess me. And perhaps for one moment, I don't exist. For one moment, I think not, and therefore, am not? For one moment, I am enthralled, engulfed.

it is not that i am so certain of myself, that I am so unitary that I am unaffected by influence, unaffected by external forces of discourse. But precisely the opposite. it is precisely because i do not already exist, because I have never asserted my existence, my preference, my reality. It is because I were never I that I want to get away from I. But how can I get away from I if I were never I?

So, what i want--that is, for my escape--I want not to exist as non-existent. I want to exist. I want to be. But I want not to be as not being, which is what I see to be my predicament.