If everyone was like me, and every student, say, held such stuff, such secrets, inside, then the world could not go on functioning for any length of time. Something would have to give, and me and all my confusions are only a sort of microcosmic reflection of that, projected down, as it were, to an insignificant scale.
Art is refreshed and made more acute by a refusal to be objective, but objectivity is sometimes relieving. Maybe it's essential to a self-concept, to a knowledge of the self. Maybe no knowledge of the self, no self-concept, is entirely possible. I've dramatized my own identity issues into a sort of rationalized debate about subjectivity and objectivity, but really i'm not entirely convinced it's a valid argument, based as it might be on a false distinction, and really the only conclusion you can come to in the end (after all this speculation) is that there is no objectivity and there is no truth.
If you be subjective and act subjectively though, is you try being, as it were, fundamentally subjective, you soon run into problems. Chief among these is an absolutely crippling, and if not crippling then at least enfeebling, sense of isolation.