MRS. BLUEBEARD
June 3, 2026

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"I want to say I learned something valuable today;
Alas, my murdered remains are incapable of learning anything.
Trusted you; I should have never trusted you.
In fact I never did, what's the use?
I'm not complaining,
I'm not anything.

I have a weird difficulty blending who I am internally and externally. At least in my own head. I can't decide if this is the classic battle of the id versus the superego or something different. Sometimes people tell me I'm "masking." Sometimes it really does feel like what baseline exists within myself is such a different person from who is on the outside that I wonder if something is wrong. I'll catch myself saying, internally, "god, I'm so vindictive." and then I pause and am like; well, no I'm not. Nobody in my life would describe me as vindictive. If an imaginary third person tried to tell that to my partner, my friends, my family; They'd all guffaw, say it's unbelievable. But like I wonder, does that make it untrue? What's true, my internal being or what people see of me? I don't think I have an answer. Because while surely some of it is anger regulation, which is normal, I do also sometimes think it's a bad thing I do so much curation of my own being. I notice people sometimes feel more comfortable when I don't, but it's so habitual I do it without thinking. I think that's kind of where the "masking" allegations have some merit. Sometimes the caution stops me from saying something genuinely hurtful. That's where the id/ego/superego argument has the most merit. But also where's the line between limiting the things I say/do for self-regulation and doing it to placate others? I don't think I've entirely figured it out yet.
I have a challenging relationship with identity in general. I lacked much of my own identity for many years. I adopted whatever form made me feel the most safe. Safe from verbal aggression, safe from social outcast, in the worst cases safe from physical aggression.
I was a chameleon blending into what I needed to, I never found my own colors.
I guess if I were to take a shot in the dark about what I was experiencing right now, it would be the wrestle of identity versus responsibility versus trauma. I had a very unhappy realization recently that I really did inherit some traits of borderline personality disorder from my mother, despite my endless pressure put onto myself that I never, ever am "like her." I think I realized a few years ago following a complete and total meltdown that this was possible; after all, BPD is born from being invalitated and full of fear from a young age, something that having a parent with BPD makes rather easy. "Personality" could be argued is just another word for "identity." If I felt like I only bordered on having my own personality seperate from other people, well... But I still denied it in the years following. I don't think I could process it until now. Part of my meltdown was completely removing all barriers, letting out a monster of hurt and hate and desperation for others to see me, to love me. I lashed out at people, I made impulsive, irrational choices, I was deperate to latch on, until someone hurt my feelings at all. "I'm expressing myself. Isn't this what people want? Isn't this who I am?" It was a bad time. I don't really talk about it that much, it's so embarassing. It's also just... hard to explain. This is the most I've been able to explain it coherently, honestly. Prior to and even after that point I think I avoided developing identity and just did what was responsible. I tried to be "the best little boy in the world," so to speak. And while I don't think I want to go off the rails and be totally irrisponsible I think some of it is performative, or moreso for others than myself. So in a time where I'd like to think I'm making more steps in the direction of identity, I think the balance of responsibility and trauma shows up more and more.
Where the idea of being vindictive came up in me earlier was the song Mrs. Bluebeard by They Might Be Giants. There's something I strongly relate to in seeing a situation in which I feel I have been wronged as if I have been murdered. I have so much trouble honestly responding to being wronged that in most cases I feel as if I might as well be dead, responding to it as if I was a ghost, unable to do anything about it. "Alas, my murdered remains are incapable of learning anything." I also admittedly do feel rather wronged by it, and by the people who take advantage.

Is this what's supposed to happen when you're only trying to do right in this wicked world?
Probably I should already know this, probably I should graciously accept what I get.

-ace