Lady Isabel Carlyle stated: source post
TheCrowOnTheFence stated: source post
I didn't play the ''be someone's voice'' game with you?
Oh! Oh... Play with me? :D
I am a con artist. A brilliant con artist. My greatest asset is my ability to appear to people as I want to appear. To know what they want to hear before they know they want to hear it. I am a genius. I can talk circles around anyone because I can think circles around anyone. And yet, in moments that I can't identify between lucidity or insecurity, I wonder if I'm conning myself. Am I as intelligent as I believe I am? Am I as unique? As ruthless? As interesting? Or have I simply convinced myself of that through my own ability to spin webs of pretty words? But those moments pass, and I carry on playing the game.
Some time ago I learned that honesty is the greatest lie, and I continue to live by it. If I say the truth (or in some cases nothing at all) in just such a way, it becomes what I want, instead of what it is. And if anyone cares to scrutinize far enough, I have the best defense possible. That my lie is in fact true.
I am special, but not for the reasons you think. Interesting things have happened to me and I have done interesting things, but all have left me surprisingly unchanged. Bored, even. And so I use these experiences in my social arsenal, but continue to look for something that will impress me the way it impresses others.
I used to grapple with my own contradictions. I am special and at the same time, I am nothing. I am superior to others and at the same time, I seek their adoration and respect. I am honest and I am a liar. But now I'm older. Some days it seems like maturity, others it seems like simply being tired. I no longer grapple with these things. At least not with the passionate curiosity that I used to. Part of me rationalizes these weaknesses to myself and part of me simply no longer cares. I am what I am.
I feel vapid. Like there is no real person under the construct I've created. I've searched and I've found little. Only further constructs. This formed identity serves me well, but answers no questions and leaves no fulfillment. I seek hedonistic pleasures and simple gratifications, because what else can I do? There is no purpose to life and there is no truer meaning behind my mask. All we have in this world is fancy and whim. And I will pursue it with an air of panache, until my limited time is up.
I don't know who I am. But at least I know I'm good company, if nothing else.