Anonymous Subjectivity

** This is a test draft for a short story that I am writing for a Creative Writing course. Some of it is rather disjointed, as I have not yet officially decided how to open the story. **

I honestly cannot tell you precisely what strange desire overcame me that led me to voluntarily have my brain frozen. The idea was that my brain would be frozen for a temporary period of time, long enough for it to solidify its inner activity, and then it would be experimentally revived. The operation began by implanting electrodes in my brain that were connected to mirror electrodes in my arms, fingers, occulomotor muscles, etc. If necessary, robotic parts could be implanted, such as microscopic robotic rubber bands that had essentially the same function as myelin sheaths but could increase the rate of neural transmission by four times that of a normal humans’ myelin.

The trial went on for nearly sixth months, and when it became inevitable that an individual’s right to his or her own destiny (despite the risks involved) is a choice beyond the law, the trial finally concluded. I had won my case, and was granted to finally do with my mind and with my own existence what I pleased, so long as I would not harm OTHERS, even at the risk of harming myself. Though I had my band of followers, I had an equal band of critics whose momentum seemed stronger based upon their claims that what I was subjecting myself to would ultimately be suicide.

Then there was the period of silence. No one really spoke to me during this period. Uncomprehending glares from complete strangers seemed to dominate my daily life. My friends and family spoke very little to me, and for awhile I retreated into my old solitary ways, writing and thinking each day and trying to prepare myself, mentally, for the experimentation. Throughout it all — the whole six-month long trial and the preceding three year struggle to get my ideas “out there” — I was so busy being brave that I never approached my own anxiety until it completely crashed upon me the moment before the operation.

I sat there, thinking, “Can I really do this? What will happen to my mind, and to my existence as I know it? What if they can’t bring me back? Where exactly will I be trapped, indefinitely…forever?”

For over a decade, there was a political stronghold of ethical concerns that withheld a great set of scientific and technological exploration and experimentation. So much was going on in the scientific community that the public could not access. Once some of the results of new “ground-breaking” experimentation were announced to the public, the public seemed to quickly disregard the results as interesting, yet outlandish ideas because the technologies mentioned did not yet exist in their world. There was too much ethical quandary about “advanced minds” and enhanced humanity, and therefore…the majority of the twenty-first century’s greatest scientific achievements were kept under wraps. I feared that suddenly the government would loosen its grip on deciding the ethical perimeters for every individual, and that because this decision would be so late in the process of underground scientific experimentation, there would be an explosion of new technologies for an entirely unprepared society. This would lead to the singularity, a theoretical point in time in which technological evolution out-paces humans’ ability to adapt the new technological environment.

Decidely Calm.

My eyes are ablaze, but my mind is clear and dark. I can follow my thoughts like a path of light imprinting a design upon the darkness…a meaningful pattern in the midst of flickering tones of orange and blue and pink.

I want freedom from all of this. From this skin, this humanity. I want more.

I want to feel the ultimate state of being alive while I am still alive.

When I think about my life, I find that I have always been such an “in her own mind” individual. My body is sometimes a nuisance.

There is a certain sense of self-worth that is innate, and that evolves throughout the lifespan. So much of existing involves a process whereby we acquaint ourselves with the world in such a way (from a particular individualistic axis) as to have it reflect our own sense of self-worth. And then we follow the path of that our own axis point draws from ourselves and into the world, hoping that it will bring us to that grander sense of self and that we will finally feel accepted by a world which we otherwise feel ourselves a stranger in.

Alan Watts quotes A.E. Houseman in one of his audio lectures: “I, a stranger and afraid in a world I never made.”

Watts states that this is a very Western view, and challenges it with the line, “You are something that the whole world is doing.”

Is the feeling of being a stranger in the world really only a Western apprehension? Nonetheless, the second is a far more optimistic world view to uphold.

 

I grew up in a perhaps unusual way. Junior High was when I really “found myself,” though of course it was a process which started from the exact opposite, having a very low sense of self in sixth grade.

In elementary school, I supposed my identity could be summarized as “the awkward, quiet girl.” In second grade, I read a lot during class and eventually went through a phase where I despised books for the outcast status they immediately seemed to impend upon me amongst my classmates. I think I might have talked more about the fictional adventures I had read in a book recently than what I had actually done recently. The characters in my books were dearer to me, at the time, than my own real friends. In fourth grade, I was an artist. I drew cartoon characters because I found that drawing is just a process of recreating an image in the mind and then tracing that mental image with the hand. It was so easy for me. In fifth grade, I was a writer. I had been attempting to write novels since I began to read them (the summer after kindergarten), and in fifth grade I wrote my first poem. It was called ‘Black and White,’ from the perspective of a blind woman wishing to see the visual world, which she based upon her other senses. Later that year, I wrote a story that bore the same title about a young blind girl who had an operation which would allow her to see (the basic premise is not at all unlike At First Sight or that new film The Eye).

In sixth grade, though, I had almost no sense of self. All I wanted was a best friend, and the only truly meaningful moments in my life that I can recall from this year were based upon conversations with my dad in which we discussed the concept of a true best friend. I lost all sense of myself just trying to get people to like me. I was so despised. I still cannot figure out exactly why. Perhaps my hyper-sensitivity to the world around me, and to others, made me an easy target. However, I cannot figure out if my hyper-sensitivity is a product of me being despised or if it caused it. I hadn’t really found myself in my body yet, and thus none of my appearance or physical presence made much sense to me. Nonetheless, I knew that my appearance was keeping people away from me….so I did what I could to neutralize my appearance and my features so that others would befriend me. It did not work. It’s funny, though, because I don’t think that I was ever all that unattractive.

Anyhow, in seventh grade I became confident simply because I wanted to be happy. Confidence was freedom. I even walked in a certain way, and even if it made me look like a fool to others it didn’t matter because I felt confident when I walked that way. Being confident, even though I wasn’t supposed to be…made me happy. I started to become really comfortable with being myself, even if I was the only person in my world who really reflected my own self-worth.

By eighth grade, I realized that I people would appreciate my philosophical nature. I learned this mainly through an online blog that I had at the time, and by correspondences with strangers online. There was this boy that I had a crush on, and I recall conversing with him online about…life, on a relatively philosophical level…for a 14-year-old. He liked me until he found out who I “really was.” He shunned me for my reputation.

Thus, my self-worth evolved, and then of course reached its peak, the point at which self-worth and world-worth (acclaim from others) match at the highest level. And now the two are fluctuating again, not entirely balanced yet.

Perhaps the only way to balance one’s self-worth with world-worth so that the two are suitably reflective is to find another individual with whom to cherish one another’s selves beyond self-worth.

There are parts of myself that I do not particularly like. The point is to always have self-awareness prevail, and to know that self-awareness holds you back from acting in ways inconsistent with your otherwise thriving sense of self. So far, I think I am all right. The best I can do for now is to be completely honest with others, and I seem to be doing fairly well with this.

I think of writing almost as the ultimate way to be honest with myself. If I really want to know what’s going on in my mind throughout a day, all I have to do is track it by writing…scribe my thoughts. Once I have a large enough sequence of words, I can start to decipher my own mental inner-activity. There is nothing that I can truly hide from myself, anymore…I confront even my shame.

Sometimes I think that the best adaptation one can make in life is to be comfortable with oneself, no matter what. I suppose most religions teach the opposite, always trying to restrain the self from its primitive sinful nature. Personally, I can’t imagine any state of existence more dreadful than a fear of one’s own impulses. So what if I want to have sex every once in awhile? So what if I get really odd urges to grab and hold random people I see on the street? Should I really be so ashamed of being a predator for other people’s desire? It’s perfectly natural.

One thing that I hate about pictures…in general…is that I see a self (my self) that is “better than” what I would otherwise be comfortable with on an everyday basis. I prefer the image of what I could be to the familiarity of how I am; I pursue the image, wondering about its truth.

Until I find another who may reflect my own inner spirit and vitality completely and with intriguing shimmers of a new interpretation…I think I am happy knowing who and what I am, and pursuing what I believe that I am capable of in this world, through these senses, and with this mind.