The accounts of losing yourself were as follows:
i. The voices of the people around you started to sound like a cassette tape in fast forward. You couldn't understand why they were talking that way.
ii. When you saw your reflection in the looking glass, you began to see someone else.
You couldn't recognize the face in the mirror. you reached out to touch who you thought you were, and your hand slipped through the surface like a hand submerging into water. And that was the last you saw of your face (or at least, what you thought was your face)
iii. So now, you became a faceless creature. You saw without eyes, hearing only static and white noise. You walked on abandoned sidewalks, tripping over broken glass and getting tangled up in withered weeds. It is there where you completely lost yourself. And no one saw you slip through the cracks into the crevices of shattered dreams and empty promises. No one saw you fall through paved over lies and stomped out wishes.
Somewhere along the way, you misplaced what it was to be human.
You became something else entirely.
You became a writer.