The Continuum Paradox: 07. Identity Crisis

 

I don’t recognize myself anymore. I don’t know how long I can keep doing this. Each merge takes more out of me. I don’t know if the person writing this now is the same Aria who started this blog. But I have to keep going.

I thought I was a hero, someone willing to sacrifice everything to save the world. But now I wonder if I’m just another pawn in a game I barely understand.

I’ve started to feel like a stranger in my own body. I always thought I knew who I was. Aria Kairos, whistleblower, rebel, survivor. But after merging with two alternate versions of myself, I’m not so sure anymore.

It’s like my physical self doesn’t belong to me anymore. I wake up and expect to see someone else in the mirror. My muscles ache in ways they shouldn’t, as if they’re remembering injuries that never happened.

A Surreal Blend of Déjà Vu and Disorientation

The mental toll is worse. My memories are starting to blur – was it me who grew up in that small apartment in Brooklyn, or was it another Aria?

I’ve caught myself thinking like Alt-Aria, with her cold ambition and ruthless pragmatism, calculating every interaction like a chess move, manipulating people to get what I need. I’ve felt Survivor Aria’s hyper-vigilance kick in during moments of quiet or every time I look over my shoulder, like I’m waiting for an attack that won’t come. Their voices don’t fade when the mission ends. They blend with my own, twisting my thoughts, my memories.

Sometimes, I catch myself thinking like them. I’ve started strategizing like Alt-Aria, calculating risks and rewards as if compassion doesn’t exist. Other times, I feel Survivor Aria’s paranoia creep in, questioning everyone around me.

It's like being a passenger in your own body, where every sensation is familiar yet foreign. You recognize the emotions and memories, but they don't quite fit, like trying to wear someone else's perfectly tailored suit. It's a paradox of identity, where you are both the observer and the observed, caught in a loop of self-awareness and confusion.

Who Am I Now?

And then there’s the guilt. Every time I return to my timeline, I leave behind another version of myself to deal with the fallout. What gives me the right to disrupt their lives for the sake of saving mine? These merges aren’t just visits. They’re invasions. I’m taking over someone else’s life, their body, their choices.

Who am I, if not the sum of all these fractured selves? Hastings says this is a natural side effect of merging; identity is fluid, shaped by our experiences.

I’m not so sure. What happens when those experiences are borrowed? When you’ve lived a hundred lives, which one is truly yours? I told him I couldn’t keep doing this. He looked at me with that same cold detachment and said, “You don’t have a choice, Aria. If you walk away, this timeline is finished.”

What if I’m losing myself? What if, by saving this timeline, I’m erasing the person I used to be?

I didn’t ask for this. But then, neither did you.

-Aria Kairos
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