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Identity Schisms

By DranoK 420 in Op-Ed
Wed Aug 29, 2001 at 07:56:50 PM EST
Tags: Culture (all tags)
Culture

I stand on the demon court stand. I am the judge, the jury and the accused. My heart doesn't like this emotion-based discomfort, but it doesn't exactly have a choice in the matter. I've been arrogant too long. I've known Truth too long. I thought I was God. My body heat rises as my thoughts coalesce into milky white form, pricking every last cell of brain-tissue with a imp-like scalpel, peeling away layer after layer of lies.

I stand on trial to answer for my crime of mental schisms; I stand on trial to forge a new identity.


I remember when I first realized I was gay; I remember the torrent black rivers of molten tar pouring down my adolescent face -- the tears steaming into oblivion and the sinking singularity deep within my emotional self. I remember hearing my father's words echoing within the psychological hall which is my skull, bouncing off memories and feelings, snowballing into the absolute definitive of Hell. I knew all too well how my father despised fags. I knew all too well his deep-set religious beliefs. I remembered my father's rantings concerning the demon-like nature of queers. And I knew above all else that I was alone in this Hell. I was ten years old and knew I had a demonic secret that must be hidden from the world.

It's easy to feel sorry for yourself. It's easy to blame the ignorance and cold-heartedness of humanity for your own depression. It's easy to blame your parents, your schools, your government.

But I was ten and I had no realization that there was even blame to be placed. All I knew in my pathetic extreme youth was I was sick; that I was broken. I tried to understand my thoughts; tried to force them to make sense. I thought back upon my brief existence as a human searching for causes which could rationally explain my deviance. I believed barely-remembered games of 'doctor' as a much younger child had corrupted me. I believed God had forsaken me. I believed I was destined for Hell.

It's funny how thoughts can simmer on the stove of perpetual silence -- how emotions can quell behind the dike invisibly until they burst like so many daggers stabbing through your self-control. You awaken at night, moist from the thin sweat covering your body -- you have goose-bumps with a fever and can't take your mind off Hell. You almost cry out in the emotional pain but stop yourself only to stop the embarrassment of discovery. Instead you lay your head back down and whimper, slowly crying your way back to happier dreams.

Eventually my feelings were too strong to contain, and I would allow my mind the freedom to explore unspeakable fantasies at will, and I would cry silently after the illustrious thoughts drew to a conclusion from guilt and depression. I feared my nightly routine of sleep and the deathly hell-bound dreams God sent me; I feared Satan's sugary smile pulling me into the darkest depths of Hell's ineffable pain, and I feared God for laughing at me as I failed time and time again to find His camouflaged path.

I wanted God to understand me. I wanted to be good and righteous. I wanted to be forgiven of my uncleanliness and bow down humbly before the alter of God and be worshiped by less holy men as the new savior of religious piety.

I became an absolute asshole, a true monster for a righteous cause. I was the template for radical right-wing activism. I was devout and judgmental. I tried to became the perfect Christian. Instead I became the perfect monster, dealing half-truths and twisted scriptures designed for one purpose alone: To condemn all who would stand before me. I set out to ensure the entire world would be joining me in Hell.

Then, at the pinnacle of self-righteous ignorance, a girl found me and saw through my pathetic skin of xenophobic loathing. A magical girl in her own solipsistic ideal of humanity willing to truly befriend me.

"I know what your secret is."

"What?" My heart raced like no time before -- I could feel the icy sweat sweeping down my neck and pouring over my face, for I knew what she was speaking of. I knew the terror she was about to unleash.

I asked again more earnestly: "What?"

She looked at me, her eyes gleaming a silver gleam I had never expected. A comforting mischievous smile which somehow put me at ease. "I'll tell you after school."

And then, like a magical Dr. Seuss novel with puffy pink aliens she came me out to her, my mind jumping hopscotch at her non-judgmental display and dancing in hypnotic new patterns of thought never before encountered -- red fish! blue fish! ecstasy and joy! I had reached the pinnacle of mortal achievement!

I was saved!

It's easy to feel sorry for yourself. It's easy to blame the ignorance and cold-heartedness of humanity for your own depression. It's easy to blame your parents, your schools, your government. It's easy to blame just about anyone but yourself. This is a natural defensive mechanism. This keeps us alive.

So I opened my mind to the totalitarian grip Christianity held over the world's peasant population. I opened my mind to the Hellish condition gay youth spend eternity in thanks to the Republicans. I was righteous -- I was pure. I had a Purpose, a Cause. I was the total victim for having such pathetic blind faith indoctrinated into me as a child. I became an Activist.

"Where did I go wrong, your honor? What could I have done? What would have been acceptable?? Why am I on trial!?"

The judge smiles upon me licking his pouty red lips, waiting patiently for the killing verdict. His body transmutes now between the jury and his previous form of insidious judgemental bliss causing an electric hum of blue static electricity to raise all the hairs on my body. He is me and he is an absolute monstrosity. I snicker at this mental judge and close my eyes in thought.

I know me and the judge is me -- how could I ever set myself free?

I had changed once. I morphed from a fragile Christian boy into a wise sage of liberal determination. Why did it seem so unbelievable that I could change again? -- morph into yet another incarnation of seeking reeking logic? That was my only error, my only sin -- to believe I knew Truth.

Those were good times, the days of my 16th and 17th years held warm air and sunny skies with thousands of clouds just begging to be destroyed. I was saved, after all -- born again in youthful liberalism! I was good and I set out to do good. I avoided judgment, respected opinions, and recycled hundreds of disgusting cans and glass and paper for the good of the environment. My moral had compass reversed polarity toward the thoughtless cow that is obedience.

I dedicated my life to the left.

The judge interrupts me, snearing from his goatee'd lips:

"You had a Purpose? The great DranoK had a Truth!?" His lips curl in a silent laugh mocking me, the sarcasm dripping orangy corrosive drivil from the sides of his mouth.

"Please, do continue."

It was hard, your honor -- that much you must understand. It wasn't a cop-out to become a liberal. Doing so forced me to distance my parents and stand up for what I believed. I had to choose the ethically correct decision! It was not a cop-out!! It was hard being a socially liberal socialist!

"So your first Truth crushed you latched onto the first paradigm your worm-like mind could comprehend. You pathetically lobotomized your own mind to save yourself the trouble of independent thought. You disgust me."


I was a happy lobotomized liberal. I was content in my superiority. It took a girl to destroy my first Truth; it took a boy to destroy the second.

My boyfriend didn't believe in Truth. He despised the entire notion of blind faith. I thought him silly, selfish. I mocked his inability to feel compassion to the most simplistic political notions.

But then I started to read. I read anything I could get my hands on, the new content swimming through my conscious fish-bowl feeding on the uncomprehendable beauty of infinite modes of thought. I saw not one reality but a plurality of paradigms. I had found what I thought I was searching for

My mind had finally woken.

Ginsberg, Blake, Burroughs, Whitman, Rimbaud -- these became my mentors. And as I read I could feel new thoughts emerging, thoughts which had been suppressed by the slavery of social evolution. Thoughts which were not tolerated by humanity's delusional reality. I realized the futility of rationality.

I became a neo-nihilist, born yet again into the new light of no light. I could see the blinders which faith wore; I could see the pathetic lobotomy of pure liberalism -- I could see the idiocy in ascribing to Truth -- any Truth. I saw how pathetic Purpose was. I saw five billion ants scrambling around wretched trash-filled nations searching for whatever God they could find; billions of ants fighting for domination of what Truth would be.

Billions of ants blinded by the simplistic notion that they could see. Billions of ants squirming in self-delusion and filthy selfish psychotic altruism. I saw five billion ants who all resembled me.

"So you realize why you're on trial, then? Commendable. But don't think that will save you."

The judge stood and slammed the wooden judgment stick down on the most sensitive part of social reality. He cleared his throat and spoke with absolute resolve.

"The jury has reached its final judgment."

Scores of demon shadowy imps screamed explicatives over the bench, prodding the judge on to smile a devilish smile and bear the full sight of his blood-dripping teeth for the first time. His forked tongue lashed over these ivory temples hungerly waiting to feed. His eyes glowed a purple fire from the deepest depths of my inner furnace.

"You have abused every reality you were given, destroyed every Truth and isolated yourself from all your loving peers. You are not worthy to believe, nor content to hallucinate our common vision. You are destined to your own self-induced fate.

"I therefore sentence you to unimaginable uncertainty -- I sentence you to have no belief, no Purpose, no Truth. You will never again know the delicious taste of pathetic rational reality."

The hammer struck down once more and all was silent. For a brief second all my thoughts stopped and gave me one perpetual moment of peace. I had been condemned to my fate.


I awake to the pale light of an office ceiling. Is this it? Is this the end? Is there nothing more to tell?

Believing in no Truth is simply another reflection of believing in any Truth. I wear the same blinders Christians do, the same blinders liberals do, the same blinders that will forever enslave all humanity. I am no different. I am not God.

So many years spent trying to escape humanity, only to realize my prison was with me all along. Even DranoK could never escape the evolved biology of mankind.

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Well, is this better than the first?
o Yes 39%
o No 5%
o They both suck 31%
o You die! You die and go to Hell! 23%

Votes: 51
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o Also by DranoK 420


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Identity Schisms | 20 comments (8 topical, 12 editorial, 0 hidden)
link to comments about the original (3.25 / 4) (#4)
by Justinfinity on Wed Aug 29, 2001 at 02:34:21 AM EST

i saw a couple editorials saying how nice if we coule merge comments from the original story.

here is the next best thing

-Justin
Why don't you listen to me? If you listen, you get some of that clean, refreshing, new world

Great essay! (3.00 / 3) (#8)
by mmcc on Wed Aug 29, 2001 at 06:17:44 AM EST

    Believing in no Truth is simply another reflection of believing in any Truth. I wear the same blinders Christians do, the same blinders liberals do, the same blinders that will forever enslave all humanity. I am no different. I am not God.
Sure. There can be multiple belief systems that are internally logically consistent. From within one system other systems seem "illogical"... thus the blinkers. Everybody lives in their own little world, and believes they alone have figured it all out.

Take it all with a grain of salt ;-)



Outstanding! (4.00 / 1) (#9)
by Spatula on Wed Aug 29, 2001 at 08:27:39 AM EST

I haven't read a good op-ed for quite some time. This is a breath of fresh air in an otherwise content-less workday for me. +1FP, and keep the excellent essays coming.

Furthermore, I like the evolution aspect of this piece. I have been trying to categorize and/or identify my paradigm shifts over the years. Sometimes I wish I was stupid so I wouldn't think so much about how I feel. This essay does a damn good job at outlining what one goes through during radical shifts in action and thought. Maybe I'll get something good out of this. Or at least an idea of what I'm up against.


--
someday I'll find something to put here.

*Excellent* essay ... (3.00 / 1) (#15)
by joegee on Wed Aug 29, 2001 at 02:40:17 PM EST

My writing reads like meandering verbal flatulence in comparison to yours ... :)

Anyways, you speak about Purpose. I find that sometimes there is no Purpose with capital letters. Sometimes its just purpose. Sometimes there is not Meaning, only meaning.

For myself I have found the real key to happiness is holding "to the best of my abilities" as my purpose, finding meaning when possible (sometimes I even stumble upon Meaning), recognizing "enough", and being satisfied with what I am given instead of wonting for things I do not have.

From this state of being I can sometimes find myself drawn to Purpose -- as I grow older I notice it tends to find its way to me if I am receptive.

<sig>I always learn something on K5, sometimes in spite of myself.</sig>
No escape:- transformation (4.66 / 3) (#16)
by incunabula on Wed Aug 29, 2001 at 03:51:49 PM EST

An excellent tale of the 'mind-forged manacles' taking a stranglehold on the self...

I too had had destroyed all truth, all value and all identity, seduced by the empty void that in its own way provides a final Answer. Unfortunately, at the end it becomes impossible to function as a human being in any way - why do anything in the face of this answer, which boils down to an all-encompassing 'No'?

I have suspected all along that the 'I', once identified, must always be transmuted to pursue the 'Yes' - there is, at least to me, no end to the schisms - the amount of jihads my selves have suffered at their own hands truly makes me surprised that I can still talk of 'I'.

Which is what keeps me going.


i


making a choice (3.00 / 1) (#18)
by perdida on Wed Aug 29, 2001 at 08:11:35 PM EST

I got a big red star tattooed on my left hip as a reminder of where I am at now... a projection for thirty years into the future when, even if I am republican, I will still see this big red star on my left hip.

I decided when I was 16 or so that I was going to dedicate a significant portion of my life to this social activism stuff, and that even if it made my life hard I would still consider the value of the choice and the value of the things I learn, even if I abandon that choice in the future.

That is to say, that most decisions look bad, small, petty or worthless when one is on the verge of changing those decisions.. and one should remember not just the moment of changing your life, but all the hard work you put in and all the learning that came from your experiences.


The most adequate archive on the Internet.
I can't shit a hydrogen fuel cell car. -eeee
The changing political philosophies... (3.00 / 1) (#19)
by Banjonardo on Thu Aug 30, 2001 at 12:23:43 AM EST

...and the desperate need to adopt a philosophy reminds me of Marius Pontmercy from "Les Miserables."

If you haven't yet, read it.
I like Muffins. MOLDY muffins.

Illusionment (3.00 / 3) (#20)
by kimbly on Tue Sep 04, 2001 at 04:31:00 PM EST

When I was about 20, I went through a long period of thinking about this kind of thing. I eventually identified the kind of thing you're talking about. What you call Truth, I called "illusionment" because it was the state of mind you had before you became disillusioned. Illusionment was just one part of a whole network of concepts that I developed. I gave each concept an iconic symbol, so that the concept represented by the symbol wouldn't be tied down by definitions. The symbol I used for illusionment was drawn to resemble a closed human eye.

I'll mention a couple related concepts I developed. "Rocks" was the desolation you felt when all of your illusionment was destroyed. I visualized meaning/purpose as a sea that kept you floating above the sharp, harsh rocks. Rocks was a feeling of purposelessness, desolation, and abandonment.

Another concept was "value", also known as "footing", which is what constituted the sea that shielded you from rocks. I eventually realized that living required the continual invention of new values, as the old ones fell away. Otherwise you'd fall to the rocks, which felt bad enough that it was worth inventing new values to avoid it, even if you consciously knew that the new values were ones you had made up for yourself.

And I also came across a concept that I called "syrup", because it felt like an exceptionally thick and solid sea. I described it as a state of mind where everything seemed imbued with meaning. Something as mundane as a discarded beer can would bring to mind all the history and motivations behind whoever had thrown that beer can out. Had they been partying? Why? Were they drinking to avoid problems or to have fun with friends? What did they do for a living? Who were their parents? Where had they been born? Had I ever run across them in the street?

Eventually I developed quite a few of these concepts; probably 20 or so. When I explained the system to other people, I called it my religion. For me, it served the same purpose as traditional religions. The central belief underlying my religion was that once you realized that all meaning was just illusionment (i.e. denial), you had no choice but to start making up your own religion, in order to save yourself from depression and suicide.

Identity Schisms | 20 comments (8 topical, 12 editorial, 0 hidden)
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