“There’s a part of you that’s a critic, constantly watching your own moves. And there’s another part that’s an observer, watching the critic, watching you.” – Mao Code Geass episode 16
Sometimes we all have voices in our heads, although I’m not sure I’m qualified to say it. I’m a writer with moderate and sometimes severe social anxiety, so the idea someone might not have those voices comes off as absurd to me.
The Critic: “You’re probably just projecting your own toxic insecurities onto people, and rudely expecting them to understand or empathize with you.”
The Observer: “Who the fuck do you think you are? Are you so arrogant, and self-centered as to think that you’re the only one with issues? Everyone probably has it worse than you, you’re just too mired in self pity to see that, and should be ashamed of yourself!”
That multilayered vortex is probably the best example I can give to explain what the phrase ‘social anxiety’ means to me.
Now in writing these voices are completely normal, it means you care about how good your pieces are, you care how your audience will receive your work, and the quality of it. In society, this means you’re overcome by your looking glass self. For those who don’t know, this is a sociological concept that amounts to your perception of how people view you. This is often viewed as a bad, and unhealthy thing, as the idea of being ‘yourself,’ and being comfortable with yourself is held as the world’s ideal. Now for most people this would peak at being overly concerned with Instagram likes, or being constantly concerned or self insulting with their appearance, something I will also admit to. For me this issue goes deeper.
I won’t claim to be a genius, as the character described is, but the quote I opened on is a perfect representation of how my mind works. To start I’m incredibly empathetic, my primary goal in any interactions I have with people is to make sure that everyone else is comfortable, and my biggest fear is hurting anyone. To those of you who know me, hearing that may come as a surprise, because to contrast that I am also an overly critical asshole. I will always call out when something doesn’t make sense, and I will call you out for being stupid. These two things should be mutually exclusive, and I have no idea why they’re not, because SURPRISE they come into conflict with each other.
I feel like empathy is more to my core, because whenever such a conflict comes up it will win out, but unfortunately that always has its own consequences. Back to the quote, as the critic I analyse almost every action I take, and will police my own behavior. As the observer, I can see through all of those carefully filtered actions, and will mentally punish myself because those filtered out thoughts exist. The critic turns every action I take into a crime, and the observer takes every action I consider, and turns them into thought crimes.
The way the looking glass self comes into play is that at ANY point in that thought process EITHER role can have their title replaced with ‘people’s perceptions.’ Not only do I criticize every action I take, I criticize them in context of anyone’s possible viewpoints. As the observer, EVERYONE can see through me, and will judge me accordingly. An easy to understand example of this is in how it has fucked up my sexuality.
For people without these issues the most pressing fears of approaching whoever they’re attracted to, for me it’s women, would be the fear of sadness that would result from rejection.
The Critic: “First of all it’s not about you. If you’re friends she could view it as a betrayal. She could be coming off a bad break up. She could feel objectified by the notions of your attraction.”
The specific reason doesn’t matter, the issue is the possibility of hurting someone.
The Observer: “If you’re friends, you’re betraying her by lying. If you find her attractive, regardless of what you do, you’re already objectifying her.”
These lines of thinking also apply to my platonic relationships, you know the overwhelming majority of them. There is an idea that any action I take could be seen as a form of advance, and a betrayal. For compliments, an almost objectively good thing in friendships, one could be seen as an advancement, but a lack of one in light of a new look could be taken as a lack of caring, either notion having the possibility of ruining a friendship.
All of this applies to everything I do, every action I take is vetted by every potential perspective I can think of, and because of my empathetic core I want to do right for all of them. Such a thing is not possible. Aside from the endless contradictions that come up by the very nature of those thoughts, as I said earlier, society views being overly concerned with how other people think negatively.
The Critic: “It’s self destructive, and no one really wants you to hurt yourself for their sake.”
The Observer: “It’s fake, you just care about seeming nice, and that’s true selfishness.”
My intentions end up not mattering, because if those perceptions exist, that can be how my actions are taken, and for those people that is what they truly are. Because I’m empathetic, I don’t want to do people wrong. Everything freezes.
Creative Non-fiction is an incredibly hard genre for me, because it’s the only one where my social anxiety begins to apply. One of the initial ideas I had for an assignment about what I most desire was the a piece focusing on how I don’t value myself, or my problems, because I’ve faced fewer hardships than most people. I grew up academically gifted, and in an incredibly privileged demographic.
The Critic: “Such a piece will come off simply as another guy whining about privilege.”
Another idea I had was to write one with more of a focus on my sexuality, with my desire framed as coming to terms with it.
The Critic: “No one has to ‘come to terms’ with being straight. Even in the event that everyone understands what you mean, you’ll still come off as a child crying and blithering over something that IS NOT ABOUT YOU.”
Finally I came to this idea. The Critic looks on in silence.
I realized my desire. Not for the voice to be gone from my mind, but to be silent in some cases, confident in my own choices. I don’t want my critic to be gone, I want to embrace it, and to be embraced, because it’s my empathy, because without it I would be the callous, jaded asshole I’m afraid of getting out.
“That voice keeps you sane, keeps you from becoming the menace of society that you fear yourself to be, that you see myself as in those moments when you find yourself in the pits of depression.” Said the observer, watching the critic, watching you.
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