i have a journal, like a real life one. for some reason it feels less secure than my public website. apparently i don’t want to admit anything, anywhere. what if someone sees, what if someone sees? sees what?
but it’s different in there. in my journal. it’s very straight forward. i just say stuff. i don’t care how it sounds. and the funny thing is: it usually sounds beautiful. i get right in there. but i compare my journal to my public ramblings, and they’re wholly different. it’s like two different people were in two different rooms talking about two different lives. so. i laugh. because that’s me in writing and it’s me in the world.
i am very clear on what i’m about, what i like, what i dislike. i’m clear on me. i generate my own self worth and i am compulsively self-aware — traits that have saved me a lot of problems in life. but, straight up, there are two “real” versions of me. there is a me you unleash at parties, and there is a me you endure at home.
i can’t reconcile them. they’re irreconcilable. there’s no hybrid mid-point that i’ll get to one day. and, no, i don’t know which is more authentic, if either. i suspect they’re just the upper and lower bounds of the same line.
there’s one i’ve settled into as an adult. it is the sensible one, the upright one, the one with too many questions and too many conclusions. the one who won’t listen. the one who is genuine and invested and insulated and impenetrable. it is sort of un-likeable and pure. it is the one people recover from with something wild and stupid and free.
and then there’s the other one. the one i grew up as. the human analogy of excited gesticulation. the razzle dazzle. the vamp. i can turn it on, and mostly i can keep it turned off. mostly, i rein it in. sometimes it slips, especially when i’m tired or i’m sad and i need that little social hit. that bump. but mostly, i control it. i can keep it bound. or. i can unlock it with a thought and i can charm people and let them drink me up. everyone loves a raconteur. everyone loves to be courted. they flash their eyes and they are drawn in and they feel adored. it takes nothing for me to hold them in my palm.
all my friends met me as one and then saw me as the other. every one of them has asked about it. and i never know what to say.
because yeah when i’m composed, when i’m pulled in and operating on that day-to-day level, i can still wheel it out, but i tend not to go there. i tend not to throw on that brand of charisma because it is almost an act of self-worship. honestly, that is what most charisma is. you invite people to engage in your performance of self-deification. they bathe in the overflow. it is very narcissistic (hence the allure of the narcissist). meanwhile, there is a different kind of charm. it’s smaller and more thoughtful and more about other people. i like that one more. but most people like the big show. they like the adventure. the buzz of the grandiose.
so when people say, you know, which one are you? i have no idea. i am both. i like both. i prefer the one i think is better for the world, but i am insatiable for the other. it fills me up like nothing else. does that mean i’m like this, or like that? am i one true thing + some aspirations? how do i know?
and why is there always a side to pick? monosexuals, monotheists, monopersonals.
the glitter is big and it is powerful and it takes everything in its path, but it is not me at home. i’m quiet, and i like to daydream and i think about space a lot. one version of me doesn’t give a fuck who you are, and one version of me will never forget a single thing about you. they’re worlds away from one another, and they are both the same.
i guess. the me you get is a function of how i am, right then. sometimes i want to keep people and sometimes i just want people to like me more than someone else. for years i was one, but right now i’m overwhelmingly the other. if we’re being honest. it’s predictable and it’s kind of pathetic but i’m giving myself a pass. for now.
that’s who. (: