The Myth of the Authentic Self
I've never written for this blog during daylight hours. I'm not even sure what I want to write about, but I felt like I should. I felt the drive to be creative, but I'm lacking in inspiration.
As always, trigger warning for themes consistent in all of my writing. Suicide and my whole Thing about dehumanization.
I got back on meds a few days ago. I took my SSNRI five hours later than usual today, and noticed that I have quite a lot of anxiety. I didn't notice how bad it had gotten I guess. I'm not sure that this medicated calm is better. I have mental illnesses, I am mentally ill, I know that I should be on meds, I know that I become more functional when there are artificial chemicals working in the background. These facts don't help the way that I feel about the medications though. I might be suicidal, and anxious, and a lot of other things, but that's still me. I'm not even super heavily medicated right now, and I still feel a step to the left of myself. I'm less anxious, so I'm less careful. I feel like I'm annoying everyone around me. I like how often I feel bad. I feel like the guilt and shame keeps me in line.
In western psychology there's this notion of The Authentic Self. Supposedly my authentic self isn't "burdened" by my past, isn't scared of the world. Supposedly my authentic self is only accessible through modern medicine and psychology. I think my biggest base personality trait is my desire to be good. This probably comes from deprivation and degradation and the depravity of my former self— all things that I'm told need to be "fixed." I don't want to be more selfish than I already am, I don't want to stop being who I am. I will grow and change and get better and get worse over time, I hope the vehicle for all that is intrinsic. I baked a cake for a friend yesterday. Would Authentic Lin do that? Am I not already Authentic Lin? Is it not enough to be myself as I am in this moment? I'm told the desire to kill myself isn't my Authentic Self. Why not? It seems as though this is the only decision I can make that truly has nothing to do with the feelings of others. Some philosopher I can't remember said some quote I can't really remember that goes something like; "The only real decision a man can make is whether or not to keep living." Probably Cioran, since it sounds like something I read while depressed and I read Cioran/interviews when I'm depressed.
Maybe this whole thing is about autonomy. In place of a devil and angel on my shoulders I have John Calvin and Emil Cioran. One pulls me toward purpose, satisfaction, and obligation, and the other fantasizes about a successful suicide that will never happen. What's the point of all this living? Is there a point? Does it matter? Who am I when I'm alone? I can only answer one of these questions. When left to myself, I am a creature. I become an animal with no drive to survive when I lack a reminder of my humanity. I am human because I am surrounded by humanity. I try to be real because other people are real. I put on the human act because I care about other people. Do I care too much? I can do almost anything if I feel obligated. I owe it to the world. Sometimes I feel like I owe it to myself, or a version of myself. The child that was born a person just like everyone else, the child that didn't understand what was happening to her. She is inside me every day, driving me to be good again. We are born perfect.