Why I Always Contradict Myself —The Inevitability Of Becoming What I Never Envisioned

I became what I once wanted, but also what I apprehended. I can’t stop refuting my words. When will my discrepancies stop?

IAM Policy

That’s a difficult question to answer. Who am I? What defines me, and how did I come to be? I can think of many words to describe myself. But as I’ve said countlessly, words are a double-edged sword. 

One can say my thoughts define me. This is especially the case in the digital realm. My words are all that’s showcased— ones that never reveal my whole picture.

I’ve transformed over 13 months of writing. But I feel that same sense of normalcy I past did. Only through reference points do I realize how different I am.

Unfortunately, I feel disconnected from some words I wrote when I look back. Not everything holds for me anymore. It’s happened before, and for the first time, it’s happened with these writings.

It’s when my dynamic self detaches from my static thoughts.
One moves on, while the other remains in place. 

Invisible Transformations

Two contradictions in my old writings stand out, though I’m sure there’s more. I was stuck on my project, though through reflection I said I’d finish what I started. 

Well, I didn’t complete my work. 

I gave up in October. I’ve moved to more pressing matters and endeavors. Giving up after a year of stalemate wasn’t the worst idea — it was justified given my few prospects.

I didn’t fulfill what I proclaimed though.

The concessional, forced vibe from 22-year-old me is offputting too. I tried to work through my anxiety through the belief I was weak in some reflections. “Tough it up.”

I was told I lacked fortitude — and had no confidence to refute the idea. I wrote, “Who cares what I think? No one cares about me. Maybe these feelings are valid, and I need to work on myself. I’m choosing to be this way.”

It sounds like I was coercing my thoughts, it feels weird. I’ve since realized my problems have validity too, not just my fears. I can’t shut my emotions off like a valve — not because of existential deficiency. 

Getting through my challenges took time. I experienced true evidence to the contrary. I gradually became acclimated to situations. It wasn’t a binary switch, nor a choice I made.

And hell — despite talking in the past tense, my problems aren’t over. 
They’ve improved, but haven’t concluded. 

I headed a 4-person meeting with only an hour’s notice. The idea was unnerving, and months ago I would’ve gone dizzy. But the talk went perfectly — I didn’t freeze, stumble, or embarrass myself.

I spoke clearly without monotony. I responded to unscripted questions without memorization. My voice didn’t get stuck in raspy “can’t breathe” mode. 

I envisioned going blank, freezing, or rambling nonsense. I had embarrassing moments before. So it’s miraculous to behold a real scenario where everything went off without a hitch. 

I’ve realized I can communicate without much thought, and do fine… sometimes. 

However, there are less uplifting ways I’ve transformed before. I never envisioned my mistakes either. They were so clearly wrong, I thought I could never make them.

Despite my consciousness of them, I fell right into line with those detrimental beliefs. I never felt I was headed in that direction, but then I discovered I was there already.

Turns out those paths weren’t as easy to avoid as I thought.

Long-term unemployment or inactivity sounded crazy. Multiple years with nothing to show, how was that possible? Now I’m about to pass the 2-year mark since graduating. 

I’ve done a lot in the last 9 months, but I was incapacitated for most of the first year. Time passes so fast —I know the endless summers are long gone. It’s no longer a surprise how months of nothingness can happen. 

I remember how discomforted I was with my social anxiety. Proximity caused a sense of aversion, and while no one was at fault, I sometimes felt frustrated and wished for the source to leave me alone.

Now I sometimes have to pass or stand next to someone when I walk down the street. My anxiety doesn’t affect me as much, but maybe I’m triggering those feelings for them.

I don’t intend it, but I might cause the same stress I used to feel. 

On Rails

I’ve contradicted what I’ve said. I fall to certain notions — ones I’ve already realized are detrimental.

I desire authenticity, yet I picked a corny shades-wearing, cinematic gradient photo for my profile picture. It conveys a sense of stoicism and emotionlessness when I’m the opposite. 

I can’t conjure a presentable enough alternative — I have no selfies. If I want to be 100% genuine, a photo of me lying in bed with sleep-deprived eye shadows would convey that.

I haven’t shown that side of me though, because I’m still self-conscious about how I’m perceieved.

I write how I’ve doom-scrolled less or shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Then I slip up again later. Just yesterday, I got sucked into the neverending feed again. 

Terrible thoughts pop into my head. Judgment, assumptions, etc. Maybe they’re intrusive thoughts, or how I truly think. I couldn’t escape my addictive ruminations.

It’s been a rough few weeks. 

I don’t purposefully deviate from my beliefs. It’s an arduous navigation where failure comes easy. Negative situations unexpectedly arise, and I’m soon back where I started.

I contradict myself because I don’t always write what I believe. My words serve to convince me too, as I sometimes struggle to have faith even when I want to.

Sometimes, I’m clueless about my own beliefs. I ponder and create theories as to what they are. But my perception isn’t infallible — often my inference is wrong. 

That is the lie of words — where uncertainty becomes concrete. Context is culled for clarity and assertion. My whole experience becomes encapsulated in words like… “experience.” 

Words never mirror my reality to perfection. I know this.
Yet I write anyway — as I know no better alternative. 

I end up pitted against my former thoughts. It’s like I’m on a carnival ride, slowly inching closer to my undesired destination — to scenarios I never wanted to live.

Is it just human nature? Is there no way to stop the ride?

I remember thinking about tactics in games that exploit addictive tendencies, such as RNG and microtransactions. I swore I’d never implement them— yet I considered the thought in my app ideas.

There are incompatibilities I’ve discovered with my goals. I sacrifice either making the experience accessible or financially viable for my future. 

I was required to think of “user engagement” and “creating demand” — concepts I thought were dehumanizingly sterile. To “make a reason” for users to shell out their wallets — my answer was a stark no before. 

Now, I’m not sure if I can adhere. At least, without giving myself the short end of the stick. 

Contradictions in my morals come from limitations — because the ideal is out of reach. I’d volunteer and make altruistically free works forever, but my present doesn’t allow that. 

As I discover moral ambiguity, I’m forced to address these uncertain questions I once thought were open-and-shut. It wasn’t malicious when I went against my former beliefs — I was passively taken downstream.

I fell into the same habits. The logical fallacies, the ways of thinking, the decisions. Everything I swore wouldn’t occur with me, they’re just happening anyway. 

Maybe I was averse to notions because I feared cultivating them within me. 

It feels terrible to fail and feel like a hypocrite continuously. I falter beneath the goals of perfection I sought. 

But my contradiction isn’t necessarily bad.

I get closer to understanding my right with each failure. It’s a graduation from one state—not consecutively, but in the bigger picture.  And I realize the inevitable flaws in my human existence.

To stop contradicting indicates I’ve assumed that state of perfection — a lie, in other words. It’s where my pursuit for a better outcome unceremoniously ends. 

My nature influences me. I’m constrained by my environment too. The best options aren’t always available, and sometimes I choose wrong regardless. 

A flawless state of being may be impossible. But I can aim for it the best I can. 
I must trudge on, as harrowing as it feels.

The line between realities is thin. I’ve become aware of how easily I can morph in undesired ways. But I can also strive for my ideal outcomes that are a hair’s width away.

I make inferences about my anxiety, failures, and grim outlook. Yet I contradict myself in a future where those thoughts no longer apply. When I speak confidently, move past setbacks, and anticipate the future with excitement again — they become a discrepancy with my beliefs. 

I see an imperfect, yet unimaginable version of me today. And I may see another tomorrow. Nothing dictates that insight is misfortunate. I might like what sight I see — though I must tread carefully. 

The time I gain that vision may come soon.

To discover how inevitable what I become is.