Yesterday, I found out this blog wasn’t quite as private as I’d believed.
Three people in ‘real’ life have the link. That’s it. At least, that’s what I believed. I’ve been very wary with giving the address out, knowing that anonymity is the key to opening up about the things I may not be as happy admitting to in everyday life. There are two definite sides to me; the public face – all jokes and sarcasm and dark humour – and the other side, in which I refuse to hide the difficulties I’ve faced. I don’t like the two to cross over; I’m incredibly picky who gets to know I have BPD, or bulimia, or identity problems, for fear of judgment and being treated like a stereotypical crazy person. I don’t like being the underdog, and have chosen (rightly or wrongly) to pretend I cope in society. I’ve never been one for telling the world that I’ve tried to commit suicide (as Z often does) or flashing my mental illness badge like a trophy.
I’m even wary of admitting that I have fibromyalgia and arthritis, or even that I have chronic pain. I’d like to be more open about it, but I’m tired of being treated with kid gloves and being given useless advice by well-meaning acquaintances.
Yesterday, I learned that at least two other people have been given this blog address. Although I don’t know them personally, I do know them online and they know who I am.
I don’t know whether to feel angry that my wish for privacy was ignored, or saddened that a promise is so hard to keep for some. It’s taken a long time – well over a decade – for me to feel able to trust a small handful of individuals, and I’m wondering if perhaps I was being naive for believing what others say.
I’m 99.9% sure who gave the link out. In fact, I’m 100% sure. Part of me wants to rip into them for being such a total douchebag – this is personal stuff, how would they like it if the darker aspects of their lives were given out for the world to see? – and part of me just wants to set this blog to private.