The title of today’s blog is not a matter of ego, but of self-preservation. I split myself into two people a long time ago. I needed an escape-personality, someone with enough self confidence to meander their way through this tumultuous world. There is me, and there is E. Many of you only know the entity that is the former. He’s the one that writes the books and deals with the outside populace. I remain static, waiting for the final shoe to drop. To me, it’s not a matter of if I will fail, but when. No matter how hard I try, I cannot get rid of my father’s voice. I was indoctrinated at an early age to believe I was worthless, that everything I would ever strive for would be a constant struggle that would bear no fruit. It’s easy enough to crawl into a ball and cry myself into a comatose state, but I have other people counting on me. Namely, my family. During my younger years, E. served as the support beam that held me up, that allowed me to put on a happy face and deal with the unceasing barrage of hatred spewed forth by bullies and detractors. When I finally met my wife, she replaced E., became my life support system, and E. went away for a while. All that time, I never stopped telling stories. Whether in my mind, or on paper/computer screen, I was constantly writing. The day I finally decided to show my work to the world, I let E. out of his cage. He was to be my PR guy, the dude that fronted the questions, my face in the public eye. But, at some point, the creation became the master. Now, you may not think that’s a bad thing. E.’s a pretty cool guy if you just give him half a chance. Sure, he’s foul-mouthed and dirty-minded, but aren’t we all at times? Still, E. is not everything that I am.
I would love for E. to have his way twenty-four-seven. He doesn’t require pats on the back or social acceptance. E. really couldn’t give a flying fornication if you like him or not. He doesn’t need you. Hell, don’t feel bad because he doesn’t need me, either. He only needs to be heard. I, on the other hand, want to be liked. I’m not much different from you at home. No one wants to be hated.
Nowadays, when I look in the mirror, I see E. looking back at me. I like the guy and am in no hurry to rush him off, but I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself. I seek out the bad in people. I’m not very trusting. If someone or something seems to have good intentions I automatically start looking for chinks in the armor that will show me their true motivations. There has to be something bad about them. We’re all horrible people, right? Yet I have met plenty of you that are just as awesome as you seem. I’ve thanked you in my books and on this blog. I love your face for being exactly what it seems to be. I appreciate that it’s not a mask. You wanted to know where “LYF” comes from, well, there you go. You are you, and nothing more. I admire that, because I can’t be that.
You don’t want me to be myself, believe me. I’m not a very entertaining person, hence the dire tone of this post today because E.’s away, working on a new book. I wear a mask so that I can be social, so that the boring, indoctrinated Edward can hide behind the outspoken, self-assure E. That’s funny, though, because everyone seems to enjoy my honesty, yet I hide so that I can be open and honest. If you’re confused, welcome to my world.
There are a few traits that E. and I share. Empathy is one. We tend to feel for humanity as a whole, but we deal with it in different ways. While I mourn the crumbling edifice of our superficial society, E. arms himself against the tide of indifference, is a warrior against intolerance. We both value honesty, but once again, for different reasons. I’ve been lied to enough over the years to have acquired a voracious hatred for all untruths. Also, I lied quite bit as a child and my ass still hurts from all its meetings with my mother’s belt. E. appreciates the need for lies in fiction, but sees no purpose for it in everyday life. He finds the subtle lies to be the worst. Bloated, exaggerated praise for crap that could be better, irks him to no end. E. feels that if you lower the bar, eventually, you will trip over the fucking thing.
This is the dichotomy of me; the importance of being E. No bullshit passes these gates without thorough inspection, and I love E. for that. He also doesn’t allow me to go half-assed into anything. Because of him, I always strive to be better. Though E. doesn’t give a damn about your acceptance, I appreciate each and every one of you. Please, don’t let E. scare you off. He’s an asshole, but a useful one. Like every rectum, he expels waste. However, E. does suffer from explosive, verbal and literary diarrhea, so if you get shit upon, I apologize. It’s not entirely his fault. I created him.
Ah, the ramblings of an fractured mind. Not broken or damaged, just segmented on purpose. Gotta love it. But my insanity is justified and manageable. If I wasn’t crazy, no one would give me, or E., a second thought.