Not self-help. Not motivation. Deep, raw writing on identity, meaning, and the parts of being a person that nobody talks about honestly.
Fractured Self sits with the questions that self-improvement won't touch.
Why adequate lives feel hollow. What institutions leave inside you after you leave them. The person you became by accident. The body that knows what the mind refuses. The performance of selfhood in a world that rewards coherence and punishes complexity.
This is writing that stays inside the discomfort rather than rushing toward a solution. Drawing on Jung, Heidegger, Camus, Foucault, Laing, and Merleau-Ponty, not to impress, but because the mess of being human deserves more than slogans.
You need permission to stop performing the one you've been given.
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