The heart of the inside

There's an experience I have when I'm home, outside of therapy. That there are two selves. One is the outside and one is the heart of the inside.

This core, this self is the reality and the outside is a carefully articulated performance.

But I know the inside speaks. I ultimately do what I want, eventually. Like leaving school. That was an authentic expression, fuck what anybody thinks.

But the inside must be protected. It can't speak directly. It can't take the place of the outside because it's too valuable, too precious, too much at the core of my existence to be put there and be in danger.

It's the raw nerve. It's the lump in my throat. It casts off shells ot itself in the illumination of being articulated. It is resistant, it uses resistence to protect itself. It is negativity. It says no. That's why I try to appear to say yes on the outside because on the inside I say no. Not enough. Not full enough an expression. I escape.

The heart of the inside is escape. Demanding, nothing appeases it.

And it is doubt. Doubt that any expression is adequite. Is enough. Gets it.

If every attempt at complete self-portraiture is doomed to failure, then I still exist. There is no need for fear of ceasing to exist because deep within me is an enigma that is me. That is perfect, in its way. And every attempt of the Other to fit me to shape, to picture me catches the outside and the shape of the inside defies the moulds others put me into.

One of it's favorite expressions is silence. When probing gets too close, words literally fail me. They cease so I can remain unseen. So I can remain.

It is fearful of getting caught because it is so furtive. As if it were wrong, inherantly. Evil is the wrong expression. Wrong is the corect one.

To bring it to light is to bring to light that I am Wrong. Wrong in the core, Wrong in the fundament of my being.

And I need to protect others from this realization. So they do not witness the perverse core of my being--resistence, perversity, a willful Wrong over Right.

A Wrong that chooses itself as much as it is Wrong by nature. It cannot be other than Wrong but it chooses to be so nonetheless, because to choose otherwise is to betray it's being.

I feel down, and down is the authentic expression of my being. It is sadness. Not pitty. For which it is sometimes confused.