It is not that I do not think of myself as human. It is more that I might have a different relationship to the definition of human is. The more we have learned about nature, how we connect and differ from it. Or even how we ourselves work as humans. There have been many that tried to make sense of it and our place in all of this. Meaning that the things you are about to read are neither new or inventive in any regard, but it is my own personal experience about being human or rather, being my own self.
At some point, some time, I don’t think I can pinpoint it with precision or accuracy when it happened, but I was more than myself. I de-connected with the traditional or the normal. Or at least I think that way because it just might be something that not many speak of or admit to it. But I am more than certain that there is a term for it in psychology, which obviously I do not know.
What do you think you are?
How would you describe yourself?
How do you see yourself?
What is your perception of what you are? Or better yet, who are you?
What are you to the human form?
What makes you you? Or to put even more simply, how are you different as a human?
I think that we both have different answers to these questions. Even if you never asked these things, because let’s be honest, why would you? A life can be lived without the need for any of these questions to be asked in the first place.
But you see, that’s exactly the things I have asked myself at some point. And I had to, because I felt… Weird… For a lack of a better word. I rarely care for how I looked. I was glad I was in shape and that I could run, but that never was just me or how I was. Even back, if you asked me what I thought I was or how I were to describe myself, I would’ve never have told you anything about myself that was physical. And if you’d ask me how I’d see myself, I’d probably tell you something really based only in wish fulfilment. But even then, I wouldn’t refer to anything bodily. And then something happened when I was 18. Someone asked me who are you? And suddenly all these things that I had answered until now seemed silly, nonsensical or pointless.
It took me years to try and figure that out. I was already de-connected by the time I had been asked that question, but it was after I was asked that I started to unravel and realize that I had been de-connected this whole time.
From the first time I remember being lied to by people important in my life. To the first time I role played characters I’ve seen on TV on my own. To the point I started writing to figure things out. Somewhere, at some point in my life, I de-connected.
I wasn’t just a boy or a man with its flesh and rawness. I was just a brain, in a body. Or worse, just a conscience in a meat brain in an avatar I haven’t chosen for myself. With flaws that did not and do not make sense to me to this day. Why after tens of thousands of years do teeth rot or get cavities? Why did we not evolve better? Why do our eyelashes betray us and blind us by poking us in the eye? Why do we have one hole for breathing and food to go down through? And on and on, I could go regarding this peak design we call a human body.
After a while, I had found what I wanted to do, yet that did not help much. The problems were only starting. There was much for me to learn, to understand, to unravel. That’s all I knew what to do. Ask questions, read, listen, think, overthink, make mistakes, and then repeat the whole cycle again. After years of doing this, I could confidently say that I cared little to none about my body. Of course, that had consequences. Both on my health and how I looked. But, as long as it didn’t interfere with what I was doing, I wouldn’t matter much. I was happy.
Yet then came a moment when I had to look myself in the mirror. Not that I ever cared much to do so, in the first place. But the moment I felt uncomfortable in my body, was the moment I had to face that part of reality, that physical body. And after years, I could not recognize the man in the mirror. I was an adult, I was me, but I never seen much of me. Not that I hadn’t been taking selfies or pictures with people or avoiding such things. But once they were done, I wouldn’t really look at them or myself for more than a second. All that was of no consequence or matter to me. Because it wasn’t bringing any real value in my life. The value that I started to treasure was learning, reading, entertaining myself with tv shows, movies, comics, cartoon, writing, gaming, anything that had to do with my eyes and mind rather than my body. That is not to say that I was never listening to my body, it had its needs, I had my needs, but I always knew how to deal with them. Growing up poor does that to a person.
It is weird to be so de-connected from your own self in a sense. Especially your own body. It feels like you are taking for granted something that is very much finite. Because once you remember death, the dread of losing the body hits first. Then it’s the dread of losing yourself, all you were. Well, at least that is the case for me. Even now, after years of crippling anxiety, panic attacks, depression, impostor syndrome, overthinking, and other thing that I either learned to manage, learned to simply let go or to deal with, I still have to remind myself that I am de-connected. That maybe I should re-connect. Take care of the finite time I have with this body or else I’ll make that time even shorter.
And you might guess that this might stem from a need to escape, to run, to hide, but there’s not much I can do the things that give me anxiety. There’s not much I can do about climate change, the terrible choices people make voting, the terrible choices those that were voted in make regarding almost everything, corruption, the rise of fascism and nationalism like we didn’t just go through a world war regarding that exact same thing 80 years ago and like we didn’t just go through a cold war over 30 years ago now. And regarding my personal problems, there’s not much I can do there either. I just have to take a day at a time and create a better place for myself wherever I am. The mistakes I made, I can’t help anymore considering that I can’t change the past. If you fixed them, took accountability for it, there’s nothing else but move on. If there’s a lesson to learn there, good. If there wasn’t, then you’ll probably remember it as a cringe memory at an inopportune time sometime down the line.
I don’t think there’s anything to explain regarding my de-connection. Whether it’s the why, how or when. It somehow became just another thing I have to learn to live with. And I don’t think I’d have it any other way, considering my anxiety and the fact that I have a small case of being hypochondriac.
So, after this many words, I don’t know if there’s anything else to do, but de-connect. Recharge and tomorrow… Do try again.
Goodbye…