Words slip; from the ephemeral just-before-now that is the best and only now we can have, to the shining waste of the future.
Taking your current incarnation forward, slightly twisted, slightly skewed. You can and must hope for a rough semblance of recognition.
To be fair - The things you said were a kind of you, in the way that a shadow might predict movement. A ventriloquist's dummy thrown from a cliff.
Projectile. Hurtling off-target from the imperfect past, into a memory-foamed future built to absorb and reform anew.