Is Authenticity For Assholes?
Why not just fake it like everyone else?
I caught myself falling into the role of what first made my writings popular over on Quora. By role I mean, trying to be someone I’m not, or at least thought I wasn’t. That’s until I put my name into AI and did a search. AI didn’t tell me anything my comments in my writings haven’t.
I have a knack for self-reflection, obsessed with accountability, candid, raw, blunt, controversial, and also the key word I struggle with, authentic.
The beginning
When I first started writing I never thought I’d gain 40,000 followers, nor did I think I’d hit 100 million views. I had no idea what any of that meant, nor was it any interest of mine. I was just sharing, and trying to write myself out of a very toxic relationship. And by the looks of it, there were many who were, or are going through the same things in life I have written about.
But what is “Authenticity?”
Is it saying how you feel with no care to what others think? Is it you, being “you” no matter if you raise eyebrows, or catch an occasional frown? Or what about criticism, is that part of it too? Taking all constructive, positive, and negative like a champ and not let it define, or upset you?
My problem is, I was/am letting it define me. I’m finding myself wanting to be like other writers. That’s not too authentic, is it? Wanting to be someone else.
I like myself when others do, and hate myself when they don’t. What a fucked up way to live, eh? I can be having one of my better days, then read a few comments, or see an article that is under-performing and it will make an “OK” day, a bad one. It takes me down that self loathing state of self deprecating thoughts that “I’m not good enough.”
The problem
Many times I will write drunk, wake up the next morning with shame, because the drunk me thought that was the “authentic” me. When all it displayed was the “ego” driven insecure me, trying to force out content to give my followers what they learned to love and wait for, my misery. Many have told them I am helping more than I know, but that’s not how my brain works. I can’t even help myself.
While I am still in the misery to an extent, writing about the negative bullshit is no longer working. I’m not talking about writing about the negatives of life, because there are many. I’m talking about the self loathing aspect of MY life, not just life in general. I’m addicted to self loathing. Actually, I’m addicted to anything that makes me feel like shit.
I believe when I began writing back in late 2020 I WAS my authentic self, because I wasn’t trying. In a weird way all the followers, comments, DM’s and praise kind of went to my head in a sense. While it’s not a huge following, it’s not bad for someone who has never written. But no matter what my work does, it’s never enough, never. And the more it’s not enough, the more I “try.” And I’m quickly realizing I don’t write very well when I’m “trying.” I actually fail miserably, but maybe that is just part of the path back to finding my authentic self. If he was ever there to begin with?
Encore
I’m much more comfortable behind my writings than in real life, but maybe not. I generally don’t hold back in either aspect, but I could use a filter at times, but maybe not. Is no filter being authentic, or is it just being a plain old asshole?
I try to listen to what others say, and see if anything rings true, but often I find my emotions, and eventually feelings take the wheel. I hate when someone tells me what to feel, or how to feel. My feelings may be intense at times, and a bit much for most, but they are my feelings. It’s more about how I handle them that is more of a concern to me, not the actual feelings themself.
So, here I sit at Starbucks battling the poor decisions of life. This question popped into my overthinking mind this morning. Well, it’s been circling for some time now, but recent events have sent it boiling over. And in the boil it led me to the question.
Who am I?
In short.
I haven’t a fucking clue.
That’s about as authentic as you can get, no?