Believing in my beliefs

I’ve gone on before, ages ago, about how I don’t believe I’m a good writer. Not really. But this shocking lack of self-assurance on my part doesn’t end there, with something else I’ve been reminded of over the last few days popping up. I’m not even sure if I believe or feel what I believe and feel.

I’ll tell others and I’ll tell myself something – I think all the women should be welded to hammocks, for example. I’ll make eloquent, aggressive or combi arguments about why I believe this. I might even make a good point every once in a while, like how the constant guarantee of comfort is a price many women would want to pay.

But that wouldn’t stop my mind from thinking ‘there’s no way you actually believe this you twat, you just want everyone dead’. It happens with a lot of things I say and a lot of beliefs I claim to hold. Constantly questioning myself – not even in the way I’m looking for assurances that I do indeed think what I think, just in the way that my mind has to run deliberately contrary to everything my mouth says.

But then other things happen where your beliefs are truly challenged, and understandably so. The rioting, of course, has provoked many reactions from many people – I’m not going to comment on what others have said, as it’s their place to say it. But I warmed my own cockles when I realised that under these rather extreme circumstances – and be in no doubt: just because I’m not in an affected area doesn’t mean I can’t have a passionate reaction – even under these circumstances my beliefs held firm.

I applied logic I believed, I applied reason I believed and I have come to conclusions I believe. They will change – I know this for a fact (clue: opinions are capable of changing. Please learn this, the internet). But I told myself something, and myself replied ‘yeah, I know’. It made me feel good about myself.

I like being self-absorbed, get over it.


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