Who Do We Hide From?
In an attempt not to sound too much like the common teenager, or the common complainer…. or just common in general, I hope you, whoever you might be, can read this honestly. Though this blog may pretend to be about me, it’s not. Not for you anyway. I hope reading this can help you further understand yourself….
It’s the whole idea of reader’s theory and communication, really. How we see and interpret the world around us, and the messages people are trying to send us tells us more about ourselves, not about the thing or person communicating. I suppose the most shocking thing about this isn’t necessarily that our listening tells us more about ourselves than others, but that there is something that we need to learn about ourselves.
Why do we have to learn about ourselves through our interaction with others? Shouldn’t we already be well-acquainted with the person living inside this mortal flesh? I guess not, looking back. It seems that from the start, I have lived under the assumption that I know myself, and I always have. But as I get older, go through experience after mundane experience, I have come to realize that I don’t know myself at all.
In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I don’t know myself. I’ve been in hiding. Hiding the truth of my personality and identity beneath a thick wall of accomplishments, personality quirks, paper friendships, and empty dreams. What’s the use?
All through high-school, we were fed the bull-shit that we were learning who we we were. Who we wanted to be and what we wanted to do, but no one was willing to give us the tools needed to do that.
What Have We To Hide?
I hope no one dismisses this as the crazy ranting of some right-wing, Christian nut. It’s not. I’m trying to figure out why it is I do and say the things I do. Why you and I operate certain ways. So much of what I say and do in front of other people has nothing to do with me. Not the me that I have to live with everyday. That person is the person I am trying to diminish and destroy, because I don’t like that me. That me is not someone that I would want to be around or like, or marry, or befriend. That is the me I hide.
All of us set up social barriers between us and others. The person inside of us doesn’t contain the glimmer and glitz that we so often parade. As if dressing up the terrible person inside somehow makes up for the terrible person being there in the first place.
Maybe there are truly good people out there. People who aren’t fundamentally broken from the core. People who have set up their own imitations of “normalcy” and “wholeness” for the sake of their reputation, and self-satisfaction. If such people exist, I have yet to meet one.
I guess what I really don’t understand is if everyone is as broken and torn up inside as I am, why can’t we let it out? Why is it wrong of me to speak openly of these things, to leave my mindless blabbering to the front page of a blog post that no one will read instead of out in the public arena, screaming it at the top of my lungs in the middle of the cafeteria.
If we are all broken, why can’t we just be broken people together. Instead we have to flaunt our “fix” and our solution to every broken thing in this world as if it is the only option. (Don’t worry, I’m not going universalist on you…) I just wonder what’s the difference between a Republican and a Democrat, really? They’re just two broken people dressing up in different clothing. It’s like two wolves, one in white wool and the other in black.
Too Scared…
If you know me, don’t expect some grandiose change in my behavior. This isn’t my coming of age, or revelation moment. I’m not turning any corners or opening any new doors. I’ll continue to put up my defenses, put up my barriers and pretend to be whole, connected, and have some sense of normalcy. I’m far too self-conscious and scared to be anything else.
And maybe that’s what it comes down to. You and me, too damned scared to reveal ourselves to each other. I can’t show you any more of myself than I already have because to do that would mean risking not just my reputation, but what is essentially me.
Hopefully, this isn’t too convoluted and babbling…. I just don’t know what else to do or say. I’m too broken to form words that can speak to my feelings. These feelings that are rushing up from somewhere, is it the real me? The one I’m hiding? Probably not. Even this is being written under the social constraints that I impose on it. Perhaps it’s time I just resign myself to it…. but that’s really not what I want. I hope it’s not what you ant, either, but I’ll probably never know differently.
