Personal Narrative: What Makes Us Human

At times I feel as though I'm trying and failing to be a human being. But what makes us human? I feel although I'm a human-shaped shell made out of pieces of things I find interesting. Instead of a real identity. Just layers of things that I hope will make me different from others. But am I? We rely so much on the opinion of others. But why? Why do we crave acceptance of others? If people were to look closely, they'd notice there really isn't anything there.Just a mess of a person trying to find their ‘place in the world. All we want is to be remembered. Just to prove we are something , we where something. How will I be remembered? Or will I fade into oblivion? Is this the meaning of life? To spend it hoping we have some significance in this