I am an abrasive, arrogant bastard. 

And it goes from there. 

I like to tell myself that I have a “unique personality”. That each thing I do is fueled by a string of one-of-a-kind features and quirks to my psyche that affect me like they do to nobody else. I’m an artist that loves computers, I’m a religious scholar that dislikes religion, I’m a greedy, self-important swine that wants to be generous and giving to everyone I meet. I love acting, but I hate acting. I spend all my time thinking of myself, yet I can’t stand thinking about myself. 

A dichotomy of opposites. An abrasive, arrogant bastard. 

I spend many hours telling myself how I’m above “all that”, not really knowing what “all that” is. I’ve been attracted by the concept of nonconformity for a long time, yet I’ve always been cautious about conforming to the nonconformity by playing off the nonconforming stereotypes. 

Did that last sentence make any sense? Let me try to elaborate. 

Most of the people I associate myself with (note that I didn’t say “friends with”… I meant that, but I didn’t say it. An example of my nature) are what society would consider to be “weird”, or “odd”, or quite simply “Theatre People” (the name says it all). I like to think of myself as one of these weird, odd Theatre People. Yet I deliberately avoid indulging in the stereotypical “Theatre People” behavior: Don’t drink (Ed. Note: True at the time I wrote this, but now I drink like a fish. Go figure.), don’t smoke, don’t socialize all night long, don’t wear black all the time (of course, that latter one is because black clothes get too hot, and hell, I live in California). 

It’s gotten to the point where I’ve found myself feeling contemptuous of those who do “indulge themselves”, not because I have actual contempt for them or the activities, but because, hey, it’s an excuse to make myself feel superior. 

Like I said, I’m an abrasive, arrogant bastard. 

There’re two primary elements to my personality: The side of me that wants to act goofy, hyper, and fun-loving, and the other side of me that likes to think of myself as an intellectual, someone whose mind dominates, a person who’s above the “needs of the flesh”. The former aspect of my personality surfaces whenever I’m with my “associates” (read: Friends), while the latter is in charge whenever I’m left to my own devices. Admittedly, it’s the intellectual side of me that leads me down a path of depression and misery… and, unfortunately, it’s in charge much more often than not. 

Both of these aspects to my personality seem to be at war with each other. On the one hand, my fun-loving self wants to go out and – naturally – have fun. The intellectual self wants to sit down, read up on quantum physics (I’m not kidding… I find the stuff fascinating), and look down my nose at all the other slobs and plebeians that surround me. 

It’s become a problem, I think. One shouldn’t judge another based on the activities they enjoy. “Primate,” I’ve found myself thinking once, when a friend was espousing his preference for a certain type of booze. I was shocked. “Why did I think that?” I thought. “What brought that on?” I eventually shrugged it away, but I should have dwelled on that more and more. 

Such a conflicting personality. I don’t make it any secret that I truly despise myself, and I think I have an inkling as to why. A person’s most basic mental/emotional processes shouldn’t be so sharply divided. There should be some type of unity within a person, or at least complimenting, if different, qualities, yet in me I see none. 

As best as I can tell, this has, to date, cost me two very important friendships, and it may have cost more (I really can’t tell). My own stubbornness, ego, and self-importance may have severely damaged another friendship. This saddens me… it’s like discovering that you have sabotaged your own efforts at friendship, peace, and happiness. 

One of the things I’ve resolved to do in the future is to say “Who gives a fuck” to what I would call the “meatier” aspects of life. I take things too hard, I read too much into them, and when I can’t find anything to read, I project my own false insecurities onto what is there, thusly tainting the whole picture. Why? Because I’m an abrasive, arrogant bastard. It’s a tool to make me feel better than others around me, and at the same time, a means of making myself internally play the victim, the “poor little abused boy” who somehow “rises above it all” to become this great obelisk of stability and strength. 

Feh. Rubbish. 

Hell, in a sense, one can even look at this particular essay and conclude it to be another tool of my ego boosting. But so be it. 

Ego is good, I think. A little bit of it. But it must be supplanted with humility. There’s not much humility in me. I like to hold onto the littlest things, tiny “slights” that most other people would shrug off in a second. Not me, though. I grab ahold of those insignificant things and cling on to dear life, putting more and more life and effort into them until suddenly they’re as big as a house. And then, then, I look at what used to be this tiny little problem, a trifle in a sea of trifles, and it seems as big as Mount Everest. And that’s when I allow myself to feel like the poor, oppressed guy who manages to overcome his massive troubles (although they’re not really massive, and I never really “overcome” them), and I picture myself standing up tall and proud… and everyone else owes me for remaining as solid as a rock. 

Except, the fact is, I’m as brittle as… as… oh, something that’s, y’know, brittle. 

So I can’t think of a good analogy when I’m soul-searching. Sue me. 

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, the “mountain out of a molehill” syndrome. So, there I am, feeling smug and amazing because I’ve managed to “defeat” these eensy-weensy troubles, when along comes a problem that is large, that is significant. A big problem, so to speak. And I’m overwhelmed. There’s too much for me to deal with. I’m unaccustomed to dealing with the heavy things. So what do I do? I bury it. Deep, deep down. Keep it hidden. Hell, I can’t solve the problem, so I just pretend it’s not there. What a brilliant solution! 

Except there comes a time when you can’t bury a problem. It’s too big, and there’s already too much unpleasant shit taking up space in the bowels of your soul. So it overflows. And, as a result, other people – usually the ones closest to you – get shit on by this run-off. 

And, like I said, it’s cost me. My stubbornness. My pride. My inability to accept that, hey, some things are too big to tackle. Some things need to be released. And some things, you need help in solving, you need help in fixing. But rather than try to employ someone to help me – and I know that they’d be all too happy to give me a hand – I thrust out my arms and push ‘em away. “It’s no big deal,” I say. “Nothing new,” I add. “Nothing I can’t handle,” I boast. 

I’m a lying, scumsucking piece of shit. And an abrasive, arrogant bastard, t’boot. 

It’s always seemed to me that the best way to deal with potential problems is to make up my mind about what to do about them ahead of time. “What if this happens?” I think. “Well, then I’ll do this,” I tell myself. Satisfied that I’ve got everything under control, I go and watch cartoons (Batman Beyond is an excellent show, I think). 

But then, I actually come across the situation that I think is under control. “What do I do, what do I do?” I think, panicking. “No sweat, we’ve already thought of this,” I think back, using the Royal We. “We just do this, and all will be perfect.” Except, the problem is, that solution, which has been lying dormant for so many years, which has become ingrained in my consciousness, doesn’t seem to be the ideal one. In fact, it seems downright shitty. 

I begin to suspect this when very few other people follow my own course of actions. Especially the people I care about the most, and identify the best with. “It’s okay, they’re just wrong,” I say to myself, over and over until it becomes like a mantra. “My own consistency must stay intact. Attack whatever differs from my ideal.” So, many of my closest friends take a different turn of decisions than I do, and rather than shrug it away (as a rational, healthy person would do), I use it to conclude that they are inferior, that their thinking is flawed and faulty, that they must be ignorant morons to choose to do the things that they do. After all, if it doesn’t conform to my own sense of not-non-conforming non-conformity, it must be a mistake and an error of judgment. 

I know what you’re thinking: “God, what an abrasive, arrogant bastard!” 

Good show. 

So, there I am. Semi-secure in my own vast superiority, keeping myself from indulging in the same “primitive” activities as my friends. Smug in my intelligence, and my ability to refrain from succumbing to “peer pressure” (remember that phrase? Yeah, it got bandied about all over when I was, like, twelve). That’s me… self-important, self-satisfied, egotistical, egocentric… and alone. 

Why alone? Hell, think about it… there I am, making sure that I don’t branch off in the same manner as my chums. Making sure I don’t “jump on the bandwagon” (as I call it), making sure I don’t “follow the crowd” (as I call it)… making sure that I don’t “have fun” (as they call it). So I’m stuck in my own little world, with nobody to share it with, with nobody to keep me company. Because I’ve pushed them all away. “Selfish bastards,” I mutter under my breath. “Why can’t they be more like me?” In reality, the question I should have been asking is “Why do I make myself as unlike them as possible?” 

Drowning in self-pity and regret isn’t much fun. 

So, I’ve resolved to say “Fuck it”. I don’t need to be the last ideologue of the 21^st century. I don’t need to stick to my guns just because I’ve deluded myself into thinking that’s the way I want to be. I’ve done that for the past several years, and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere. Obviously, this particular “solution” I’ve dreamed up during a bout of agonizing fear and sadness isn’t working. 

I’m an abrasive, arrogant bastard… but, hopefully, not for too much longer.