how do you cope with the fact that nobody will ever understand you the way you understand you?
I’m very sure that we’re all mysteries to ourselves.
The more a person attracts adherents and admirers, the more a person seems to present a unified intention and gapless self-comprehension, the more you may be certain that that person is a complete mystery to him or herself. Needless to say, like attracts like, and the admirers mirror this shell enclosing a vacuity.
If you wanted to see this in the wild, and at the same time witness a whole sheaf of hateful pathologies splayed out with uncommon vividness, read the lead paragraph of this New York Times Style section article from 2002:
If the social commentators are to be believed, the post-Sept. 11 world has caused a certain kind of woman to re-evaluate what she is looking for in a man. Theoretically, this woman — clever, controlled, prone to overthink — no longer feels an inexorable pull toward the guy who shows up in a skinny vintage suit and a pair of Converse All Stars, a copy of something by Gaston Bachelard peeking out of his pocket. She has seen the valiant efforts of rescue workers and remarked to herself that men like Donald Rumsfeld make big, impactive decisions in the time it would take any of her exes to order lunch. Suddenly she finds herself tired of the dawdlers, melancholics and other variants of genius who would not know what to do with a baseball mitt or a drill press.
It might just be personal preference on my part, but there’s something nicer about people who are empty like a bell compared to those whose anxiety has sutured closed around the mystery of them. Cuz the people who have worried themselves into smooth shell always feel like they’re completely covered with hornets when you get close enough to them…