Denzel Washington portrays Carter and while it is based on a true story and does take the usual "Hollywood creative liberties" we see in most biopics, there was one scene that I think best identifies the splintering of personality I mentioned in my previous post.
After Carter was incarcerated, he is kept in a holding cell for the span of several days during which, he begins branching off into three distinct personalities. The first is timid, scared, meek and almost child-like. The second is hyperaggressive. The fighter. He rules the ring, he won't be intimidated, and if you're going to beat him down, be prepared to go through hell to do it. The final one is the intermediary, the real Ruben. He understands both sides, can communicate with both sides and has to figure out which one is right or wrong, while also adding his knowledge to the mix.
It's a powerful scene and Washington, of course, pulls it off no problem. And the first time I saw it, it struck a distinctive chord with me because I've been there.
By the time I was 10, I found myself engaging in two distinct personas. I am far from an expert in psychology or diagnosing anything more than the Common Cold, but from my perspective, I thought it was what schizophrenia must feel like.
Because I could be fine on a given day, be no different than any other kid, and in the blink of an eye I could shift from Yin to Yang and what would go through my mind when that happened was truly, genuinely frightening.
My Yang is daemonic. There's no other way to describe it. The voice that resonates in my head everyday can be both seductive and bombastic when it wants to be. I know that may be hard to understand, so maybe this will help.
Two weeks ago, I agreed to get out of my apartment and meet some friends at a local Renaissance Faire for the afternoon. It's not a place I would usually go, but to be honest, I like medieval culture and history and while I didn't dress up as they did, I didn't think it would be a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
Then I got there, and from the second I walked in the gate, my Yang was already chatting.
"What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here. These people don't like you. They can't stand you. Look at them, all out here having fun in their silly get-ups. You stick out like a sore thumb here, freak. You are a freak, you know that, right? You know as soon as you go sit down and open your mouth, you're going to say something that's going to ruin their whole day.
Just go home. GO HOME! HEY, IDIOT! WALK AWAY, DON'T SAY ANYTHING, GO THE FUCK HOME AND DON'T EVER COME OUT AGAIN!!"
My friends had planned to stay for a couple of hours. I barely lasted 30 minutes before I was back in the car and heading back to my apartment as fast as the speed limit allowed. I got home, locked the door, and even in the relative safety of my apartment, it kept going.
"What were you thinking? Nobody wants you out there, because nobody likes you. You can't trust them. You know that. They all hate you and they're just going to hurt you, and I'm tired of seeing that. I'm tired of seeing you sit there and take it and cry like a baby. Stop being a baby and just do what I tell you."
The dialog didn't stop until I finally fell asleep that night. Very late that night.
As I said, I'm not an expert on how the mind works. I just know how my mind works and over the course of my life, my Yang has grown profoundly stronger and more of a presence in my life than my Yin, in no small part because I let it. I cultivated it, fed it, and more importantly, I listened to and believed it implicitly while punishing and starving my Yin.
I can't do that anymore. Not if I'm going to get better.
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