The lie of a real life

Don't you think I understand?
The hopeless dream of being. Not seeming, but being.
In every waking moment aware, alert.
The tug of war-what you are with others and who you really are.
A feeling of vertigo,
and a constant hunger to be finally exposed.
To be seen through, cut down, even obliterated.
Every tone of voice, a lie.
Every gesture false.
Every smile a grimace.
Commit suicide?
That's unthinkable!
You don't do things like that.
But you can refuse to move and be silent.
Then at least you are not lying.
You can shut yourself in, shut out the world.
Then you don't have to play any roles, show any faces, make false gestures.
You'd think so, but reality is diabolical.
Your hiding place isn't watertight.
Life trickles in everywhere.
You're forced to react.
Nobody asks if it's real or not.
If you're honest or a liar.
That's only important at the theater, perhaps not even there.
Elisabet, I understand why you're silent, why you don't move.
Your lifelessness has become a fantastic part.
I understand and I admire you.
I think you should play this part until it's done, until it's no longer interesting.
Then you can leave it as you leave all your roles.

From "Persona" by Ingmar Bergman