Becoming A Mystery

This experiment with writing, here and with fiction, has so far been about getting lost. So many people want to know themselves, discover who they are, understand what they are, and get a grip on their identity. Not me. I came here with a new name, looking to lose myself. I know who I am. Or at least I did. Too well for my own comfort. For my own sanity.

That’s why madness has been such a strong theme for me, even when it hasn’t been overt. Quietly, subtly, politely… I am mad. If you can’t see that it’s only because you haven’t looked deep enough. Which is fine, because shallowness is highly under-rated. What I’m driving at though… is that I have felt for a long time like I have a firm handle on who I am. Even when all I can see in the mirror is a fuck-up, the classic first-born failure, I know who I am. What I’m capable of.

How far I could go if only I applied myself.

I know how to take the right course of action to fully “actualize” myself. And all to often I’m repulsed by it, mind reeling in protest, heart jerking me away from the “proper” direction, the sensible one, the one that would come with a big rubber stamp of success. I wish I could do it, I really do. Fully give myself over to a regular life, a stable one.

I know I can’t though. I know why I haven’t been able to. That’s not who I am. I want more than that, and until then I’ll be damned to having less. The starving artist who doesn’t know what to create. Who doesn’t know whether to move forward. Who doesn’t know how. None of the answers come from asking questions. I know, because I’ve asked and answered. The thoughts do not translate to follow through. In fact, all to often thinking leads to inaction. Too much thinking. Too much control.

Too much awareness.

I needed to forget who I was, and now… I just am. I still know myself pretty well, but I’m not bored to tears with myself, not the way I used to be. I’ve forgotten enough to be a mystery when I look in the mirror, stopped looking at each change as it’s happened, and lost track of it all. I am becoming more of an unknown to myself, and I’ve got to say… it feels damn good.

I do not want to know who I am. I just want to be who I am. A mystery to myself.

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3 thoughts on “Becoming A Mystery

  1. Reading your thoughts is a pure delight. A lot of us, including me, don’t know who you are, what you do or if in real life you might be a real bastard (you never know, right?! 😀 ) and it doesn’t matter because you write gold!

    Liked by 1 person

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