The reality is nothing like the story that the mind tells me. It appears that there are multiple levels of perceiving he world. The top level, the one that fills consciousness on the day to day basis, is mostly a lie, a coherent story that allows me to function. At the very bottom, there must be a level of raw sense-data that cannot the normal conciousness cannot make heads or tails of. But between them, there is another layer, a layer that’s free of defense mechanisms of the ego. On that layer, it’s possible to look at my own semi-raw emotions, before they are filtered and packaged as a story about a good high-status person.

When viewing from that level, it’s clear that I consist mostly of shame and sense of worthlessness. I’m week, and I’m alone, and people around me know that. I’m telling myself that I’m smart and interesting, and there are a million reasons why I’m actually better than the rest of you. I don’t want to accept my place in the hierarchy, I don’t want to recognise that others are more desirable, more high-status than me.