The Monster in the Closet

Self-evaluation is a difficult, meticulous, frightening venture, altogether obscured by the tedium and preoccupations of everyday life. Few of us tread this dark path and fewer succeed in answering any of the questions either time or honesty permit to be asked. Why are we here? Where are we going? What is our true nature? What's the validity of our lives and the ultimate meaning at their end? More and more I find myself suspecting that there is an ulterior truth to the mundane order that is "normalcy".

Day after day, we go through the motions, unsuspecting that anything is occurring beyond our immediate reach. We have jobs, relationships - the list goes on. It's in between the hustle and bustle of obligation that we're left alone to face the crisis of idleness. And what do we do? We play video games, watch movies, eat, pursue sexual gratification - all fun, but ultimately pointless endeavors. Now consider being robbed of any of these options, or any options at all, and being made to sit in a room for an extended period of time. Alone, but for the indifference of the walls surrounding you. Your mind begins its labor of analyzation, evaluating and decoding every word you have ever spoken and every action you have ever taken, trying desperately to remember the motivation and the desired versus actual outcome of said occurences. As an author edits his work draft by draft in pursuit of utter perfection, you percieve everything that was, is, and could be as a direct result of your existence. How much real influence do you have in the chaotic foray of life?

It is often said that anyone can achieve anything with the utmost work, motivation, and persistence. Even if one reaches their goal, despite all physical, financial, or any other God-implemented handicap, what next? You're President of Earth, but one day you'll be the president of nothing more than a mound of dirt that, with no pride, suffocates the rotting carcass of someone who lives in nothing more than the fond memories of future mound-mates and poorly financed PBS specials.

Memories. What an amazing compliment to the already convulted human construct. Even psychologists don't understand their work. I'd go as far as to say that they are even "creepy". Sure, we as a society question the validity of phenomenon such as ESP, but accept this highly mysterious and powerful function as the "norm". It's an old philosophic supposition that memories are indeed the fabled human soul, and that is the only way that one may outlive their own demise. Evolutionary proponents will add that our unwavering pursuit of fucking is also an attempt at immortality through the venue of offspring. I can't help but believe both (the former due to its sheer appeal, the latter because "they said so").

However, these are very general in application. Very few of us have the luxury of knowing why we are doing what we are and the foresight to know what will become of us in the future. Sure, we're going to school or working because we want to "further ourselves" or "make money", but what would you do if you could do anything you wanted? This is the thought that fucking haunts me, that goes bump in my night. What is humanity's true face? What are the deep, dark desires repressed by the all-powerful social system? How many demons are truly among us and why do they exist? Are they, ironically, the result of repression or an inherent factor in the human equation?

This leads me to a rather bleak theory: our lives, relationships, pursuits - indeed, everything that defines us as both individuals and as a species - are the result of massive social conditioning. It is an acknowledged fact that conditioning exists. However, try to comprehend this very simply truth. Everything you do and believe are not you, but what society tells you to be. What you thought you are is just a mask bound tightly over your primordial flesh with the tenderness only fear and desperation may provide. In other words, you are nothing more than a fictional construct whose sole purpose is a lie to mask the horror that is your true self.

Do I propose we all go out and gratify these urges, disregarding the laws that keep our world afloat? Of course not. Anarchy is an ideal reserved only for ninteenth Russian philosophers and 14-year-old kids that buy ripped jeans at Wal-Mart with the belief that their purchase is an affront to the omnicient "Man". Laws exist for a reason, even if their existence is a lie. It's the lie that makes it meaningful.

I've come to two conclusions: either mankind has come to some unanimous understanding at some undetermined point in the course of human history that their nature is indeed evil and hedonistic and they implemented these things called "law" and "order" to contain it, or they are blissfully oblivious, avoiding this fact like a pink elephant by continuing about their silly lives without question or insight.

I don't for a second claim that anything I say is true. Afterall, these are meandering thoughts occuring in the early morning hours on a soda-induced euphoria. It is just as likely that these theories are true that I'm spattering utter bullshit. I'd like to believe I am. I'd like to believe there's no monster in the closet. However, from time to time I can see him peeking out at me. Watching. Waiting.

It's for this reason that I cannot sleep.