originally posted somewhere ~5 years ago. reposting to refer to later.
back when i was seeing kg i heard over and over again, “but what about you?” i never had an answer to that question and i still don’t.
one of the more difficult realizations has been that i have nothing to myself. now that i think of it in those terms, i have even less to myself - these days even the worst parts of me i try and bury end up manifesting for others. the mask i made developed its own mask to protect itself. i’ve worn that mask for so long its hard to know if there should be anything underneath now that the mask has proved too selfish and cracked to be what i needed.
now that the portrait - fragile and often repainted without warning or explanation - that was what I knew I should be is now gone, i don’t have any answer for what i should see when i look in the mirror. all i know is that the glazed, empty look in my eyes looks wrong and makes me feel lesser.
i keep looking at all these other mirrors people use to help define themselves. i’m worried i’m looking for quick fixes - pain, euphoria, puzzles, sensation… these are also distractions, are they not? the tools we use to distract others from ourselves? i’m not really sure if they can facilitate the journeys. that’s probably stupid. i am having a hard time coming to terms with the idea that i really do not know, still, what is behind the mask.
even this i needed someone else to see. (hi.) it isn’t that i need someone to see it, so much as I need to feel that maybe there is some chance of someone hearing it somewhere and understanding. someone to witness me trying to replace the mainspring in the clockwork and the crafting of some semblance of veritas to give the contrivance meaning. even though contrivance and melodrama pretty much define these periods in my life. (as for il vino veritas, well… maybe i’ve just felt more comfortable in my head with the right amount of vino lately.)
something does feel a little different this time though.
that isn’t the only reason i shared this. i shared it because in truth i am almost desperate to draw up a spreadsheet detailing my misdeeds, all the bad things in my life or things that could even be considered bad things. i want to print it out and hand it to everyone i meet and say, “here is the worst of me. read through, and if you are going to dislike me due to any one of those, let’s not waste each other’s time.” so i’ve felt pretty open with the person i have shared this with. that is nice. i’ve been straightforward as best i can. whatever that means, i can’t really say. so far it has at least been tolerated.
the other night, when the open book was brought up, i wanted to fill the book right then and there. “here’s the list. don’t be uncomfortable, now there is nothing you don’t know.” people don’t do that though. it is dangerous, in a lot of ways, maybe too many ways. i wanted to though. it’s why i laughed, and laughed again at “shit up,” and continued to laugh at the idea of anyone finding out about something i did that made them think less of me. do you want to know the things? why don’t we just save each other the pain?
it’s nice to have a place to ramble that is at once open and private again. i think i missed it. maybe i’ve actually just become really selfish, or else i always was.