The frikkin number of times I write about anonymity is getting on to be paranoid. I totally live in the social media world it seems. Yeah. Like many people (yes that’s makes me sound normal to me), I have numerous accounts. Okay I’m not psychologically fcked up enough to use all of them all the time.
For example – I have a real Facebook account with all real life ‘friends’ or people I don’t mind knowing, another one for people I wouldn’t have on my real account and I’m too polite to say on their face- for example work place colleagues or relatives-nosey people. Unfortunately if you’re related to me you go in there. Cousins included. 🤷🏼♀️ I call it Alcatraz. I only check in to it to dump some new inmate. Sometimes I add people to it myself so that they stop searching for my real account.
Then there’s a my slutty Facebook. That’s totally fake. I use it to log in to any site that allows fb log in. (Yeah, I have a system-it’s a Virgo thing 😝). I log on to it like twice a year maybe. I also happily ‘like’ any page I don’t mind anyone knowing me liking. I mean I let my gay ‘on’ from that profile. The problem with Facebook is that it keeps changing the privacy settings unannounced. So where normally you can anonymously ‘like’ stuff, fb will suddenly tweak things and lo! Your whole friend list knows you like bara manga or the sappy “I’m so sad you broke up with me’ memes page. I also use it to control the Gay Art Facebook page.
Similarly Twitter. I used to have an account when I was with my ex. I stopped using it cause I didn’t want Him to have any more info about what I was doing. So I made another anonymous one which I use(d) actively. (Have stopped for over a month now. Do I really want to argue with strangers over the internet?). And since I’m serious about the art thing I made one in my real name. And I think it was a good thing. Cause a video of me drawing (my hands basically) I put up landed me the School of Design job.
Blogs I have had a few. I mean there was one I used as actively as this one (even more actively actually). The ex knew about it. The problem with it was that I liked to write everything that was there in my mind on it, just like this one. But then He would read it and there would be questions and quotes and fights-it was shit. I eventually got so turned off that I stopped writing there and made it private-I didn’t want him to have the pleasure of reminiscing those memories either. Whenever I read Husband and Husband‘s blog I’m reminded of that blog of mine. It was mostly in that tone. We were-happy. I even took care of planning my posts and re-reading and editing before posting. Making sure they were engaging etc. When that stopped I did make one or two attempts to write other blogs but didn’t write more than one or two posts. I even invited all the blogger ‘friends’ of the previous one over to this one – I even became friends with one of them in real life (well actually He became friends and sort of hijacked the real life guy). But then it didn’t work out.
And as with Twitter, I started a real life blog in my own name for the artsy thing too. I guess you need this social media thingy for art. And after that Twitter job thing you are not going to pry my fingers out of them. 😋
So that brings us to the main problem with the whole Social Media thing. The shit that happens is that one tends to make friends when blogging. You’re actually seeing the people inside out. And since you really like them, you want them in real life too. So I tend to follow most of the people I interact with from anonymous accounts, from my real accounts too. And that’s when the trouble starts. These people are now not in my head only anymore. They are real people who know the ‘real’ social media me. But the problem is that they know more than that me. In fact they know everything. And I don’t like people knowing everything about me.
Yeah, so I guess I am paranoid.
But i really want them to know the real me. And I want them to just smile and put two and two together. And maybe comment “I know“. And then keep that information within them.