I apologize for that utter and complete theft of a (great) idea from the show Mr. Robot (which if you’re living under a rock and you haven’t watched yet, you absolutely must; hackers are gazzing over it because it is technically correct, everyone else is gazzing over it because it shines a very clear light on the ugly, dystopian underbelly of the world that we all live in. Don’t get me started.)
But, it’s been a while.
I’ve learned that I over-disclose. This is tricky. I am an extreme introvert. What most people call introversion is actually just social anxiety (“just,” he says!). I’m not afraid of people — usually. Not in small doses, anyway. It’s just that after a very short time in others’ company, I want to run screaming from the room, lighting things on fire. “It’s not you, it’s me,” I try to tell them. With very few exceptions, they rarely understand, and assume I’m just weird/antisocial/fearful. I am all of those things, but mostly I’m an introvert. Introversion is a scale — I’m on the far end of the scale, or rather so far off the end that it’s only barely possible to see the far end from where I am. So, why do I over-disclose? Shouldn’t I be taciturn, withdrawn, keep all my thoughts inside?
Nah. I don’t know if it’s “human nature” or not (and, as I get older, I’m becoming suspicious that there may not be such a thing as “human nature”), but I need to talk. It’s just that I don’t want to do it in person. All the extra “programming” required for 3D interaction just overloads me. It’s like sand in the vaseline. The monkey wrench in the gears. The bug in the program — okay, enough with the Mr. Robot references!
But I need to talk. I need that interplay, that interaction. It’s not just pure narcissism. I want a reaction, I want interaction. I want to shock you, entertain you, tell you a thing you’ve not thought of before.
So, I tend to over-disclose. I want to tell you anything that might stimulate your thinks. Almost all of my human interaction is online. I don’t live in my mother’s basement, but that’s just an accident of fate. I have a skill that I’m very good at which is highly sought-after, and well compensated. But I avoid people so thoroughly that I might as well be a hermit, in the middle of a city of a million people. And, of course, my addiction doesn’t help — it makes me whackadoo crazy, so I tend to lose my “normal” friends… rather quickly.
Some things… you should keep to yourself. Or your doctor. Or your priest — I don’t care what church you go to, but we all need someone to “confess” to, whether they wear a black frock or a white lab coat. I’m an atheist, and I don’t see the doctor as often as I should (and I’m hesitant to tell her very much, because I know it all goes on your permanent record. HIPAA be damned.)
So I’ll post in public on Facebook about how I’m an addict, and my recent battles with temptation, and how I lost the battle (but I’ll still win the war, dammit — stubbornness may be what sees me through!) Or on LinkedIn about how I’m dissatisfied with some aspect of my job. Both are very … well, human things… normal things. And both are things you really should keep to a very limited circle of friends, if you share them at all. But my circle of friends is about… what is it now, 1? 2? And I’m not counting Facebook “friends” — that’s a made up concept, and we all know it. So with this need of mine to disclose, it just sort of… comes out.
This blog is no exception. Let’s be honest — nobody reads this. This is the equivalent of me wandering around my house, talking to my dogs (except that hopefully I won’t post a post saying “who’s a pretty girl? YOU are! YOU’RE a pretty girl!” unless things go very, very sideways for me).
This blog is — well, it’s not truly secret or anonymous. It would take you about two seconds to connect the dots and find my real name (and address, and breed of dogs, and favorite sexual positions). But it’s not directly linked to my name, so I have some semblance of freedom here. I can disclose a little (not everything, of course, there are some things you must truly never share with anybody). But, a little.
It’s an escape valve, if you will. I need that.
So, hello friend. I’m back.
Did you miss me?