Simply put, the ego-driven part of Me, my Self, is responsible for the majority of my life’s pitfalls. That ever-present devil has one primary objective: self-destruction. Distilled to its origins, the Self is not some inherent evil that exists within the human heart, not so far as I’m concerned. I see it as strictly a remnant of my primal need to survive against a hostile environment. This instinct has grown wildly out of control within me thanks to my finely honed ability to rationalize.
In virtually whatever direction I look, my Self sees threat. Survival requires I dominate my surroundings, meaning I trust nobody but my Self. The world remains a forbidding environment. My Self wastes no time amplifying its threats, using fear to drive home its sales pitch. Only it can protect Me.
Providing safety is only the beginning of that devil’s sinister lures. My Self’s seductive powers were how I became its minion. The promise of huge gains with virtually no effort left Me deep within its thrall. I was also influenced by my Self’s imperative, “If you want it, take it. After all, you deserve it!”
Because clear navigation requires constant attention to the truth, there is no small amount of heavy lifting required. I opted for the easier path, relying instead on my Self’s promises of low risk and high returns. Later, even after it had become clear that my actual prospects for success were negligible, my Self remained undaunted, convincing Me that next time would be different. “You’ll see!”
My Self’s voice speaks as though I am God Almighty, placing Me at the center of the universe. Everything else not only rotates around Me and my Self but exists solely for my exclusive use and benefit. My Self is therefore justified in bending the world to its will, and in whatever way it desires. That devil could care less about the resulting conflict or harm it may cause to others.
Of course, I had never viewed myself in such a way. Sure, I may have been aware of an internal debate, but not once did I make the connection between allowing my Self to hold sway against the consequences that disastrously followed. Along the way, it crossed my mind to ask whether I’d become my own worst enemy. Such thoughts immediately generated outraged denials from my Self, insisting I am beyond reproach, then twisting the truth to its advantage.
Its Self-righteous argument is that I am a decent, thoughtful man, one who has defined himself through intellect and accomplishment, successfully so. My Self ingeniously appropriates my on-going commitment to Twelve Step recovery and psychotherapy as its irrefutable evidence. I had clearly done as required to lead a principled life, it insists. If something had gone wrong, there was no way it could be my fault.
I’m describing my Self’s projection, an image I wanted others to see from the outside looking in. My Self required I accept as Holy Writ that I am a prince among men due to so many unassailable virtues. “There was nothing wrong with Me,” it maintained. “The problem is you!”
Despite my Self’s dark control, the other half of my internal world represents the purest part of Me. I am no longer an autonomous adult, but instead a wee child, stripped of human ego, one containing an open mind eager to do the right thing. That inner child constantly seeks clarity given so much ongoing confusion.
The answer the childlike part of Me seeks can be found by stepping into the realm of my conscience. However, that resource’s door slams shut with the arrival of my Self’s immediate objections. My child within has again and again failed to resist the Self’s demands. Such has been the tragedy of my life. During adolescence, I lost the ability to follow my conscience’s offered direction. Rather than listening for conscientious guidance, I chose to follow my Self’s urgings.
Contradicting my Self makes Me its enemy. Outwardly, this includes any other person’s Self I might encounter. Opposing my Self places it on a war footing, especially whenever other Selves interfere with its intentions. One might therefore conclude that my Self’s battle is primarily directed outwardly against others: me against you.
But human conflict remains a distant second to my Self’s primary mission. Other Selves are not the real adversary. They are merely opponents whom my Self must dispose of whenever they become an obstacle to whatever it wants. My Self’s primary focus is defeating a more dangerous foe, the other voice competing for attention: my angelic conscience.
Facing the truth is my Self’s greatest fear. It long ago recognized my quieter voice held sole dominion and authority over Me. Thus, my Self would have no power, no portal to manifest itself without my willing agreement. Like a vampire, my Self only gains power when invited in. But the moment it gains entry, my Self takes control via a lifelong con game, one that took Me for all I was worth.
Over and over, I blindly allowed my Self to be the arbiter of my life’s choices and direction. I equated my basic intelligence with my Self’s desire for control. If a thought flowed from my mind, its offered directions must be the product of good thinking. As a master of deceit, my Self had found a way to hide inside of Me. I’d been deluded into believing that my mind’s elevated abilities and my Self’s direction were one and the same. The result was decades of poorly planned travel, leaving countless derelict vehicles along my life’s highway.
It has admittedly been much easier for Me to spot the Self at work in others than to see the wreckage it has caused in my own life. Those in the grip of the Self insist they’ve got it right even when reality flashes a warning to stop. Everyone else hears the siren’s alarm except those Self-driven souls who, despite the imminent danger, forge ahead. Others standing on the sidelines watch slack jawed as the Self-possessed proceed toward an obvious doom.
The resulting loss is magnified because someone in the grip of the Self usually hits the wall without ever having touched the brakes before impact. A marriage ends bitterly, lifelong friendships are lost, financial wreckage occurs. I’ve experienced all of it. My devastation reached new lows thanks to my Self having convinced Me that this time, I had gotten it right. Yet thanks to Self-immolation, I’d been once again burned to my core, fueled by emotions of shame, anger, and desolation. If I had any remaining questions as to the source of my self-hate, there it was.
Nevertheless, my Self denies any sense of responsibility when its choices are proven wrong. It refuses to learn from past mistakes because of its fundamental refusal to adapt. Change is anathema to my Self. It wants what it wants when it wants it. Nothing else matters.
Thus, when things go sideways, my Self pivots from the role of dictator over all personal choice to that of grand inquisitor. My Self’s most notorious feature is its nimble ability to shift responsibility to others, blaming them for the terrible state of my affairs. The harmony of interpersonal relationships then erodes into dust.
In my case, the result over time was that I became an island unto my Self, marginalized from life’s daily give and take. My Self had successfully convinced Me I would never be loved as I deserved to be. Better to just hole up and hide out.
At fifty, my Self was closing in on its greatest prize thanks to my choice of avoiding human contact through isolation. It had Me precisely where it wanted, undefended by my conscience. Without such spiritual protection, my Self would be unimpeded in striking its final blows.
Here’s the rub: What does my Self’s desire to silence the voice of my conscience amount to? Self-annihilation, that’s what. Make no mistake, my Self intends the utter destruction of its competition, my voice from within, allowing my Self to remain unchallenged.
Such Self-centeredness fails to recognize the obvious. My Self’s strategy to extinguish my rightful voice requires ending Me, the very place within which my Self exists. My Self’s final victory arrives the moment I put a gun to my head, pulling the trigger. My True Identify has been forever vanquished... along with Me and my Self.
This internal devil shares the same traits as a degenerate gambler. Both insist that they are in it to win it. Yet, anyone can see that the gambler cannot stop until all has been lost. My Self’s game works no differently.