Echo and Narcissus

My relationship with reflexivity is one of love and hate.

I’m a fan of meta-comedic standup, self-reflexive fiction, demolition of the fourth wall.

But I’m afraid of it, as well.

When I talk to my therapist, I try to be as truthful as I can—only to seed the second-guessing that unravels introspection: as the answer to an inquiry unfolds in inner speech, a voice breaks in to question the veracity of the first—my motives are suspect, defensive or vain, it complains, with some credence—only for a third voice to protest the critical tone of voice number two—which prompts voice number four to worry that I might be letting myself off the hook, since after all, we should be self-critical—but why this moralized language? voice number five objects: isn’t it possible to be curious without judgement? before asking what I should do, I need to know what I really want … or is that selfish?—at which point, I remind myself: these voices are all mine—yes! and since they disagree, my inner monologue can…