I sometimes wonder how much of me is real.
It’s a basic existential question than any human might ask of themselves because we all have a social persona that is not exactly the same as the person we are on the inside.
And yet, it’s also an integral part of ourselves. So to stay that is “not who we really are” can lead to a lot of confusion about who the heck is that person who deals with the world of strangers, then?
In this field, I am luckier than others, because one of the few benefits of being so socially isolated is that I have never had much of a reason to pretend to be someone I am not. I didn’t have to modify my actions in order to fit in anywhere. I had workplace to conform to, no relatives I had to act a certain way around, and I never had to try to convince a stranger than I am perfect in order to get them to have sex with me.
I’m looking at you, straight dudes.
And while this had led me to be undersocialized and socially awkward and all that jazz, it also means I am a very genuine and “real” person compared to my better socially adjusted and “normal” peers.
I might be weird, but it’s a sincere weirdness. And I always mean well.
Still, I wonder about my own social shield sometimes. I know it’s there, I can feel it distinctly if I try. I know that there is a side of me devoted to shielding and concealing e and protecting me from the harsh cruel world and the gaze and judgment of others.
And I know there’s still a lot of shame in me. Shame that leads me to conceal the real me, even from myself. Shame that makes me desperate to entertain and please people because it keeps them from seeing who I really am. Shame that runs so deep that sometimes it makes me feel like the world would be a better place without me.
Don’t worry. I know that’s not true. There are an awful lot of people who would really miss me if I was gone, not to mention the incredible emotional violence suicide would do to those I love.
But I still feel it sometimes. I just would never act on that feeling.
As to the question. “shame about what?”, I couldn’t really say. It runs too deep for there to be any sort of logical answer to that question.
I have a deep down feeling that I am a horrible, nasty, disgusting, vile, toxic, terrible, shamefully awful thing and that if anyone ever saw the real me, they would run away screaming and hate me forever because now they know how awful I really am.
So I act like the funny, silly, deep, and quite frankly a little amazing dude everyone knows and loves, and he is me and I am he, but he’s not the real me in the sense that he is not who I would be if all my defenses were down. Nor is he the unedited version of me, or the person I would be if I didn’t know who I was.
The real problem is that I like him a lot better than I like the “real” me.
If one of us had to go, it wouldn’t be him, I can tell you that.
More after the break.
Now With Genuine Simulated Flavour
There’s been a hot rumour in the media that the CDC is going to start recommending that everybody wear a mask when outside.
It doesn’t have to be the genuine N95 mask in such hot demand these days. That would be impossible. There’s barely enough of those for vital medical personnel, let alone every Tom whose Dick is Harry,. Forget about it,
No, improvised masks are fine. Surgical masks, a handkerchief over your face, a scarf, pretty much anything that traps moisture but allows breathing will do.
But no matter what it is, I just plain cannot do it. I cannot stand to have anything blocking my nose and mouth. It immediately triggers my claustrophobia (or whatever it is) and i start hyperventilating and freaking out at like, maximum intensity.
The problem is so bad that I have had panic attacks while wearing an oxygen mask because my stupid phobia thinks I am smothering when in fact I am actually getting the best air I have ever had.
So if it gets to the point where you are not allowed to go out in public without a mask, I will have to stop going outside. I will become completely housebound. No more going out to shop or have meals with Felicity. I would stuck home until the crisis is over.
My only hope would be if my therapist. Doctor Costin, could get me some kind of medical waiver that I could show people when outside maskless.
I’m freaking out a little just from talking about this.
Phobias are horrible and not particularly amenable to reason because reason only works when you are calm and phobias make you very very not-calm immediately.
I still remember the terrible panic I had one day when I was on the Skytrain on the way home from VFS and was reading a part of a book where the hero has to go through a tight, narrow space and even gets caught a couple of times and that could not have been more triggering if it had started to bully me.
Part of the problem was that to take the Skytrain in jam-packed cars during rush hour was a major challenge to my claustrophobia already. I dealt with this in true characteristic fashion : I buried myself in media consumption. I would read 24 and do the crossword. I would listen to MP3s via my tablet.
And I would, of course, read books.
So I have to admit, I felt kind of betrayed.
That was one of my most acute panic attacks ever and I went through eleven different flavours of hell in that Skytrain car.
But you know what? Then I got over it, and was able to hold my fudge for the rest of the trip home without much of a problem.
These things end. The thing about the past is that it has passed. You will not always feel this way. Things will get better. They always do.
And that’s a good thing to hold on to when you are in anxiety hell.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.