God, I hope not.
And I don’t think that I am. But then again, I wouldn’t know, would I?
Not if I have been faking who I am so long and so well that even I am completely fooled by it and think that is who I really am.
But then again, doesn’t that mean it has become who I really am?
Or is there another me lurking beneath the false one, with its own motives and agenda?
And wouldn’t that be the REAL real me?
After all, someone built theses masks or “modes” of mine, and chooses which one to wear in any given situation.
I guess what I am afraid of is that this deepest self is radically different from the person I have grown accustomed to thinking I am.
That deep down I am something much darker and angrier and a lot less “nice” than I thought, and poking around with it will cause the false me to crumble into dust and fall away, unleashing Dark Mike on the world.
Why am I so invested in people thinking I am a super nice guy, anyhow? Why do I have such a strong desire to be liked?
Is that all part of this “fawning” thing? Does that mean I could…. stop?
And do I want to?
On a gut level, I think I want people to like me due to empathy. I want the emotions I am receiving from people that are directed at me to be happy pleasant ones, and when I know I am the cause of those warm happy feelings, it makes me happy too.
And I radiate that happiness back out to you, and voila, holy synergy.
And I know that I am not “faking” being nice. I do genuinely want people to do well and be happy and I love to help people whenever I can.
But is all that just another way I am trying to make the world love me?
If so, it’s working. I’m a lovable guy.
On one level, I can see how I was just trying to use what I had when I was a wee one. I was smart and cute and charming and so I used those things to try to get people to give me love again.
But I guess when you show up for Grade 1 without having been through kindergarten and therefore all you know how to do is suck up to people older than you, you are entirely unprepared for dealing with your peers.
Back to the issue of my fakeness.
Well ultimately, I guess I have to retreat to my defensive position of, “no matter how I got here, this is who I am right now. ”
But is it? Maybe it’s just the only person I know how to be. A persona honed over decades of being Fruvous online.
I think that ultimately, even Fruvous is only a partial reflection of who I am. There is a lot to me that doesn’t make it into Fruvous, or for that matter, into the Michael John Bertrand the real world knows either.
A lot of me remains in shadow. The deep dark shadow cast by the big bright light of my personality and charm and whatnot.
A lot of it is stuff I know is there, but don’t really “own” as being part of who I really am, like my dark urges and my rage and my secret short temper and so on.
But it’s all me. That’s who I really am too, even if I don’t want or like it.
I guess I need to dream up a version of me that includes everything.
That’s going to be so hard that I shrink away from the very thought of it.
But it’s something I gotta do.
More after the break.
I’m still waiting
It just occurred to me that maybe the real reason I can’t get my life started at all is that I am still trying to be the best fox ever while waiting for that back door to open and someone will come out to tell me that because I have been such a good, good fox, they love me again and are going to let me come back inside and be safe and warm.
Meta[phorically speaking, obviously.
I mean, I spent my childhood passively waiting for some love and attention to come my way again, and trying to be “ready” for when that happened so I could make the most of it and maybe, just maybe, if I was cute and charming and funny enough, I could convince people to hang around and pay attention to me a little longer.
Now that is a hell of a curse to be laid on a kid : to desperately need love and attention but feel utterly powerless to actively seek it.
I mean, I dunno. I think I might have tried ways to get attention when I was younger, like in grades 1, 2, and 3. I don’t seem to have any specific memories of it, but I think that is because those memories are sealed off as being far too painful.
Because when you are already a painfully shy and nervous kid, it’s very very hard to work up the nerve to ask for anything, even just a moment of love and attention.
And when your weak and tenuous entreaty is rebuffed not even in anger but with the casual ease with which one blinks, that utterly crushes your spirit.
And it confirms that you do not matter, you have no right to exist, what you want and need means absolutely nothing, and unlike your three siblings, your parents will never forgive you for being born.
What can a child conclude from that except that there is something incredibly, deeply, and terribly wrong with them?
My self-esteem never stood a chance.
And that’s why all my brains and talent never meant much to me either. If they meant nothing to my family – and they did – then why would I care?
Everyone just took them for granted. Michael gets good marks. Good, that is one less thing he might need help with and therefore another good reason to continue not ever thinking about him so we can pretend he doesn’t exist.
And I tried not to exist. And I am still trying not to exist.
In the past, I came close to trying so hard I made it true. Got rid of myself at last.
Maybe when I’m dead, they will love me again.
After all, I finally gave them what they really wanted all along : a world without me in it.
And then I will never have to deal with anything ever again.
I am not suicidal. But that still sounds dangerously good to me. And there are times when all that is truly keeping me alive is the defiant determination not to let the depression win, and the prospect of future fun.
Oh. And the certain knowledge that my harming myself would hurt everyone who loves me, even my distant and largely uncaring family, in a deep and terrible way from which they would never fully recover.
And most of them don’t even deserve that.
So I hang in there and cling to life even in those moments when I can’t remember why. I know that whatever sadness is passing through me will pass and I will be glad I lived to see another day of life.
After all, I do have a life to lead, such as it is. And people who love me and care about me and want to keep seeing me around.
That’s enough to protect me from depression’s icy entreaties.
I wonder what I will do for Xmas Even this year?
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.