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Aug. 18th, 2010
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Aug. 18th, 2010 09:22 pmFor a while now, I've felt this (internal) pressure to think of myself in the masculine, particularly when I think of myself as if from an external perspective (a very common perspective in my head, from whence most of the hypervigilance and worst case social modeling start). I've always thought/suspected most people think of me in the masculine, at best masculine with modifiers, and while that's unwelcome, it's known (inside my head; I can't actually make a compelling case that I know what others think).
But this new thing is... closer? Closer to the me that thinks, that sets things in motion internally. It's not me, but it's closer to me, and I hate that. It doesn't matter that I strongly suspect it's a reaction to a structural approach to bad comparisons and false parallelisms; despite knowing that, I can't seem to squelch or stop it. The fact that it's closer to the core bothers me. Actually, it scares me. What happens if this doubt gets all the way in? Who the hell will I be? Will I cease being me in any way that I understand myself?
One of the favorite things I used to do at the ocean was stand just inside the reach of the waves on the beach, and feel the water rush in, then slowly pull sand away from under my heels. It was a strangely pleasurable feeling, the flow and stillness, the erosion of solidity until I eventually had to move or fall over. Now I can't help wondering if part of the pleasure was in the temporary nature of it, that I could and would move when it became untenable. I wonder.
But this new thing is... closer? Closer to the me that thinks, that sets things in motion internally. It's not me, but it's closer to me, and I hate that. It doesn't matter that I strongly suspect it's a reaction to a structural approach to bad comparisons and false parallelisms; despite knowing that, I can't seem to squelch or stop it. The fact that it's closer to the core bothers me. Actually, it scares me. What happens if this doubt gets all the way in? Who the hell will I be? Will I cease being me in any way that I understand myself?
One of the favorite things I used to do at the ocean was stand just inside the reach of the waves on the beach, and feel the water rush in, then slowly pull sand away from under my heels. It was a strangely pleasurable feeling, the flow and stillness, the erosion of solidity until I eventually had to move or fall over. Now I can't help wondering if part of the pleasure was in the temporary nature of it, that I could and would move when it became untenable. I wonder.