If you watch a film or read a novel then it easy to see that the characters who seem so real are just made up out of a few moving shadows or squiggles on a page, that the thick subjectivity they seem to possess and in which you participate is produced by your automatic propensity to read meaning into them. This simple insight ought to recoil back on you so that you see how distinct the richly detailed predicament you find yourself in is from the sparse actuality on which it is founded. That this doesn't happen is because the idea that whatever it is, you must be doing it, is so pervasive, because this idea really has no graspable alternative or antithesis. You say that the problem is identification, but in doing so you have already fallen into the trap, as if to say that there is someone who identifies, as if  (the idea of) some one made obvious sense. You affirm the transitive nature of identification because there are no words to render just how flat this all is, how absolutely present. It's not freedom or bondage, if there is no one for whom these alternatives exist, but more than that there could never be anyone who could even be mistaken about them. There's no half-grasping this, it's either all or nothing, and there's no path to get there from here.