Work Text:
[Recorder clicks on.]
ARCHIVIST:
Statement of Lawrence Phelps, regarding his identity crisis. Original statement given 13 April, 2013. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.
Statement begins.
ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT):
I don't know who I am.
I mean, of course I know who I am- who I ought to be. I'm Lawrence Phelps. I picked the name myself, I should know that it's mine.
But who is that? Who am I? Who is me? When I hear my name, I turn. I know it's mine. When I see it in print unexpectedly, I get a little jump. I know it and I know it's mine. But I don't know who that is, who I am.
I can be a lot of people, every person, any person. I can be anyone I need to be. I've always been able to do this. Even when I was still a girl, I could make myself anyone I needed to be to fit the situation. Everyone at school knew I was loud and rude, but at home I was the most mild mannered ‘little girl’. Never swore, never fought, feigned innocence when it came to sex and drugs. Meanwhile, at school I was smoking in the gymnasium showers and making out with girls in the bathroom.
As an adult, it's the same. I have friends, but they don't know me, at least not the same me. They know a slice, I guess. A tiny bit of myself that I created for them. At work, all of my coworkers call me ‘Larry’. That's just who I am. The few friends I have outside of work call me ‘Ren’, some shortened version of the latter part of my first name. But then there are also people I know who call me Lawrence. All of these people see me differently. And I act differently for them. No, I become different for them.
I make myself into an entirely new person depending on what I'm going to do or who I'm going to see.
Larry always wears a leather jacket and gets the same drink at the bar after work with his work friends. I don't even like screwdriver cocktails, but that's what Larry drinks, that's what everyone thinks he- I like, so that's what I drink. At work I'm chatty, I'm a bit slow but I get it done. I could get everything done much faster, but I don't. That's not what Larry does. Larry takes it easy.
Larry is so different from me, from Lawrence, from Ren. I don't know how I can know them all so well and not know myself. Hell, they even look different.
Ren is quieter, but even ruder than Larry. He's not confined to the formalities of work and so he's mean. He doesn't say much, but whatever he does it's scathing. I don't know why I'm like that with those people, why I'm so mean. But that's just how Ren is. Ren and his stupid cigarettes- I don't even smoke, but he does.
Then Lawrence. Lawrence isn't- fewer people call me Lawrence than the other names. Mostly it's strangers, people in polite conversation, doctors and whatnot. He is loud and he doesn't know it. He tries too hard and wants everyone to like him. Wants to be perfect for everyone. Whenever I meet a new person and they become a part of my life, they either start to fall into calling me Ren or Larry. They never stay with Lawrence. I never stay Lawrence.
I know what I like as these people. I know what these people look like, but I know nothing about myself. I don't know what my favourite food is. I don't know what music I like to listen to, or if I even like to read.
If you asked me to draw a picture of myself, I don't think I could do it. I would just sit there, staring at that blank sheet of paper with a crayon in my hand. I'd probably end up drawing one of them, one of them who I pretend to be, but then I would turn into them in the process.
When it's time to become one of them, it's very easy. I'm Larry the most. Before work, in the morning, I'll do my hair. It changes. It always changes. I brush it and it turns more red than it was before. It shortens and becomes swoopy under the comb. And when I'm done, I know that I'm Larry.
When I need to hang out with friends and I need to become Ren, my teeth turn crooked and yellow-er. My eyes change to brown and my hair is long. I do not look like Larry. I am not Larry. I'm Ren.
When it's time for a dentist appointment or a trip to the pharmacy, it's Lawrence. The big glasses I put on make my eyes change blue. My hair curls and I pull it back out of my face. My fingers shake and my frame becomes skinnier.
Someone who knows me as Larry would never be able to recognize me as Ren. Anyone who has met me as Lawrence has forgotten it, they only know me as either Ren or Larry. They don't recall what Lawrence looks like or how he acts, because they don't know him.
But at the end of the day, when I'm coming home from work, or an outing with friends, or a trip to the shops, I don't know who I am. When I get undressed and pull everything off that isn't mine, that is a piece of Lawrence or Larry or Ren, I don't recognize myself. I can't see myself.
I don't know what colour my eyes are. Larry's are light brown, Ren’s are darker, and Lawrence’s are blue. I look in the mirror after taking them off and I don't know what colour mine are. After stripping off the people I pretend to be, I don't know what's left of me. I don't know if there's enough to be me.
I've looked into the mirror for hours trying to figure out who I am. I never get any closer to seeing myself in the reflection. Sometimes, I'll cover the mirror for days to avoid not being able to see myself. I'll change into who I need to be from instinct. But I always take that shroud off the mirror. I always look in and fail to see myself.
I feel so sick. When I am alone, I'm never them. It's always just me. I stop being them and I'm forced with the heavy burden of being conscious and being myself- or lack thereof. My friends go to the bathroom and I look down and I have a drink in my hand that I hate, or I'm wearing a shirt that it's too cold to be wearing. Why am I doing this? Why do I have to be them? Why can't I just be myself?
There is no self.
Even now as I write this statement, sitting away on the little chair I was placed at, I'm not myself. I'm dressed like Lawrence. You see me as Lawrence. Even you don't see me. No one has, no one will.
I'm so tired of being them, being these people who are not me. But at the end of the day, being them for a moment is better than always being someone who doesn't even exist.
Maybe I'll try being someone new. I could change my name and move somewhere where no one knows me, any of me, any of the people I try to be. I always thought Jesse was a nice name. It will be nice to be someone new. I just need to learn who Jesse is.
ARCHIVIST:
Statement ends.
There was little to actually follow up with this. Lawrence Phelps was born on the 1st of August, 1982 and was reported as a missing person in October of 2013. He had no criminal record or formal education that we could find. It appears he worked as a host in some generic chain restaurant for six years, but before that we were unable to find any other work record.
Little in means of a follow-up seems fitting for this. There's nothing important or even remotely supernatural about this statement. If anything, I think the problems Phelps was facing were more suited for a psychiatrist than us. Not knowing who you are can be scary, but an identity crisis is hardly otherworldly.
I remember in uni, I took a sociology because it was one of my graduation requirements. I wasn't much for the class, learning about human nature and why someone does something doesn't change the things that they've done, or excuse their actions.
(CLEARS THROAT.)
Anyways, one of the sociologists we learned about was a man called Goffman. He had a theory that every human interaction was preformative. That people adjust their actions and their personality depending on who they're talking to. That we cater to our audience and we're all essentially performers. Honestly, his theory is about the only one that made any sense to me back then. It's the only sociological theory from that class I remember at least.
Reading Phelps' statement, I'm strongly reminded of Goffman's theory. He cut himself into three separate people and ultimately displays Goffman’s theory to a T. I believe he was just a man, one who was suffering, but a man nonetheless. If he tried out this Jesse persona, then I hope he found himself within it.
End recording.
[Recorder clicks off.]