Subjecthood & Subjectivity: a Brief Introduction

When I was small, my imagination got me out of trouble, it kept me entertained in a house of people older than me, and it charmed everyone. Then I found I could channel it into storytelling. That fueled my soul and appealed to the insatiable need within me to express myself, but also to express something much bigger than myself.

I believed that through the strength of my thinking I could make endings, twists, and characters more developed and more interesting than anything happening in my life. I learned to harbor fantasies in my mind. I learned how to long and how to yearn. I learned to live in a mythical future that may never come or could never be. I learned from the anxious, depressed and manic writers before me – I learned to make it up and hope that my allegiance to my creations would bring them to life.

Somewhere, I am a romantic.

I had these elaborate fantasies in my head when I felt reality fell short of the excitement, adventure, drama, or poignancy that my ego deserved. Rather than live in the world, I convinced myself that I could remake the world better on my own.

In my quest for subjecthood, I lost subjectivity. All of the people in my wildest fantasies boiled down to me. At their core, they were smoke and mirrors operated by my deepest desires and insecurities. My psyche playing out in my own mental amphitheater. Filled with an audience, made up of my own multiple personalities and past selves.

I don’t want to be the one willing it to happen, I want it to be right. I thought I wanted control, but my ego has matured. I never appreciated how little I could see from my point of view. I never would have guessed that I could take comfort in that. The only stories I can tell, are mine, if even. I am still just getting to know myself.