Sense of Self.

I don’t really frequent OD like I used to. Or so it feels. So it’s interesting to look at entries on the front page. Those fresh entries that are still raw and bleeding. Somebody just put down those words.

I see pieces of myself in random diaries, as much as I am different than them. I mean, the way I was is still different than them. I see declarations of self. Declarations against alignment with common paradigms, yet alignment with simple adjectives. Funny how this is perceived to be consistent.

I sense the need to be recognized as an individual. I see this across all diaries, whether they be teenybopper or psuedo-intellectual. (Nevermind that it’s hard to tell the difference, sometimes.) I sense this need regardless of whether the diariest is calling herself this this and that. Saying I am something. Does that make sense? Regardless of how many Harry Potter fans there are out there, it is still a statement of individuality to assert an affinity with Harry Potter, albeit it still brings the corresponding social attachment to everybody else who likes Harry Potter. (It’s just an example, relax.)

Nor am I excluding myself from this. These are diaries, after all. We talk about us. Our DD’s can be littered with trite explanations of who we are, or who we think we are, or who we want everybody use to think of us. That first thought we want people to think about us. For a while, I wanted people’s first thought to be that awesome picture of Clinton. Remember that? As irrelevant as it is, it is still a statement of self.

It’s still centered on the self, even if we’re negating the self. Even by distancing myself from explaining myself up front, I’m saying something about myself. A blank DD says a couple things. It says “I’m lazy.” It says “I refuse to fill this out.” It says “I’m a n00b.” (By the way, I don’t believe a blank canvas is a piece of art. But, we’re not talking about art.)

I passed 20,000 notes recently. I only noticed a couple hundred notes later.

Things change. I remember how my ego became me. A need to say something. A need to be seen. A need for any facet of my own to be affirmed.

Maybe I’m just occupied with my time more than ever. Which I’m certainly not complaining about. Maybe I’m content with myself. Maybe being occupied and being content has caused me to not think about myself as much. Even though certain facets of mine are a prime topic of discussion among my friends and I. There isn’t that feeling of urgency anymore. Apathetic urgency, what a concept. That feeling that my life was rushing away without a notice. No, I don’t really have that anymore.

It’s so strange to have self-confidence. To be able to affirm I’m worth something and not feel like I’m chanting an empty hyme. It’s strange to feel like I can do whatever I want. It’s not just an empty battle cry anymore. I know that, no matter what, I’ve dealt with worse, and life will go on. Life will go on. I will survive. It’s a humbling feeling; quiet confidence.

The safety net I’ve clung to, there are a lot of people I hold dear to me. I’ve reached the point where I know I can live without them. Cliff, Erik, Dan? Life would go on without them. Carolyn? Alex? Ally? Life goes on. Granted, I’d be effected if I had a cataclysmic loss of all my friends. But it’s not like I’m ever relying on any one person to survive. Certainly not.

Speaking of self, I’m going to go play some WarCraft III. I rarely get any me-time to play video games.