The Betrayed

I'm living in Vonnegut's short story, (I think it's called) "Who Am I Today?" Lately, I seem to be clinging to my identity like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver. I wonder why I cling so hard. I'm on the road to Atlanta today. I go places I don't really want to go to, I do things I don't really want to do. Whose life exactly am I living? Oh yes, it must be mine, there's no one else I can pass this off onto. So the struggle is to be present even where and when I don't want to be present. Maybe it's the "wanting and not wanting" that I must stifle. Maybe not. If these are the things I do, this must be what I do. Do I choose what I do, or does what I do chose me? Is there anything I must do? So, I will play the role of the happy, engaged, fully-rounded, human being. I wonder if anyone will notice I'm going through the motions? So I pretend I care about things I don't really care about. Is it any different for the others? Who exactly am I betraying here?