/lit/ - Literature

I am going fucking insane. I feel as though I have become partially dissociated from my thoughts and hehavior, though I know full well that "I am the act itself", but I insistently ask "from where did this thought, this action, arise within myself?". It is this insistence on the impossible task of knowing the origin of myself, my will and nature laid bare, that drives me mad. If these things are unknown, how am I to be judged? It is this vague, elusive interaction between the conscious and the unconscious aspects of myself which disturbs me greatly. When my unconscious intuition, this guiding hand, is at odds with the world, who is truly at fault? Was it some subtle concession made during the dream of youth which has metastasized into a psychology incompatible with the world? And how to address this? It doesn't even lend itself to coherent expression in this first place; it's like a deep whirlwind only glimpsed in rare instances which never the less acts as the fulcrum, the underlying ideology of my being. I fear it's become a stable aspect of my being, and a foundational trait of personality. So, am I right to be judged when none(to my knowledge) can produce a complete understanding of these forces? Should we judge with that usual harshness considering the shortcomings of our model of man? It's of practical necessity to do so, of course, but still, I want to be free from the opinions of others(and therefore of myself). Am I just or unjust?