Neue

Identity.

x = x. Any algebraic equation that uses the reflective property is an identity. If I think about it, x = x is a comfort. It's a definition that fails to define. Were "x = x"-style thinking all that was required in Algebra, it wouldn't be necessary to get too deep into the details of problem-solving. But, obviously, this sort of laissez-faire thinking can't get one too far into the textbook. It's cursorily covered on the third page of chapter 1 and never mentioned again.

When I think about myself, my identity, I usually draw a blank. Every day, I slip in and out of personas to take the greatest advantage of any given situation. With my pseudo-girlfriend, I'm a nice, generous, stupid, and sweet guy. My best friends get a vulgar, constantly joking sociopath. With women or men I desire, I'm occasionally distant, sometimes wonderfully poetic, but mostly awkward.

None of these people are me, though. It's as if I'm split through a prism; my talents for deception have created a multiplicity of me, each existing only within a specific context and with a specific person/group. While convenient, this causes as many problems as it solves.

For example.
For the past few weeks, I've been dating a girl. I've no real interest in her; she's emotionally off-kilter, unattractive, and annoying. Still, she's the first girl in years to directly express any interest in me. I'd never been in a relationship, so I jumped at the chance to experience something new for the first time.

Since I couldn't feel any attraction towards her, I created a persona that did. He's a generally good guy who brings her presents, injures himself constantly and whispers "I love you" into her ear as they make out. But he's not me and he never will be. Over the course of the relationship, I realized that the constant duplicity was doing me no good. Telling her I loved her made me feel cheapened somehow; the words had lost their meaning, becoming instead a simple currency through which I got some action, no matter how minor. As time passed, my immoral acts weighed heavier on me. I became an asshole when I wasn't around her, reflecting the warping of my self-image. I couldn't consider myself a good person, so I made the choice to be bad. All for a kiss here and a grope there.

The complications of restructuring one's self should not be taken lightly. When there are enough imperfect copies of the core persona, it becomes difficult to tell the fakes from the real thing. I'm more confused than ever now about who I am, and I don't see it getting better all too soon. I'm breaking up with the girl tomorrow in a bid to save my soul and save her from me. Here's hoping we both end up better off.