Believe it or I am quite a private person. Admittedly the blog is changing that and I quite like it. In some respects I find it strangely liberating, in other ways it scares the hell out of me. I am wary about revealing too much of myself online. Should I be telling all of my story? Am I sharing too much about myself and my family? Despite these concerns I have recently found myself writing increasingly private posts and it has felt good and nice to get certain things off my chest. However, this week I had a crushing reminder about the need to be cautious when sharing some of my stories.
I am not on Facebook for a number of reasons. One of them being that I found myself increasingly fed-up of the projection of people’s picture perfect lives. Lives that I knew in reality were far from perfect. I also didn’t like how I had hundreds of friends on Facebook, hundreds of friends that I never really communicated with in real life. The final nail in the coffin was that there were certain people who I didn’t want finding me. In the end I decided to take myself off it. Which is all rather contradictory because now I am on Twitter, Instagram and I write a blog. I mean I could not be anymore out there. However, I had reasoned that certain people would not be able to find me. I was wrong.
Last Wednesday I came out of the shower to find I had a reply to one of my tweets. I was not prepared for who it was from. It was from a person from way back. The first boy I loved. The first relationship that for a while definitely shaped my future relationships and a relationship that changed me as a person. It is a story that I don’t want to share here. It is still a story that to a certain extent traumatises me still, even now. A story that makes me fearful for my girls and their first relationship.
However, this relationship has intrinsically shaped me as a person and as much as I would like to forget it, it is still a part of me. Even today as a married woman and a mum to two girls that relationship has partly made me who I am. On that grey Wednesday morning I had a horrible blast from the past. It was him, yes he looked different but it was him. The years hadn’t been kind to him and I suspect I know why, but it was still unmistakably him. My initial reaction was to shut down my social media accounts, stop blogging and hide. I then realised that he really didn’t have a clue it was me. It was one of those horrible coincidences. Scrolling through his feed I realised that he had just been replying to people who had used a certain word in their tweet. A word that by some weird twist of fate I had decided to use. I analysed what this meant, I spent the rest of the day fretting about it. All day I felt weirdly sick and on edge. I wanted to talk about it with my loved ones but then I didn’t want to utter the words. I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it so I took my normal path – I bottled it up and I brooded. For days I have thought about walking away from my blog, about taking myself off-line. During mundane tasks I have had flashbacks to the relationship. Memories that have left me feeling sick and helpless. Memories that have tried to drag me down. The ability he had to go from charming to angry in a breathless flip of the switch. I wonder if you are still able to charm the birds out of the trees. I wonder if you are kinder to your girlfriends now. I think I know the answer and then I feel guilty. Perhaps I should have said something or done something. But what could I have done?
I realise that I can not let you continue to shape me. The old me would have retreated but the new me won’t. I have let you destroy so much of my life. I have partly blamed you for my subsequent dysfunctional relationships but perhaps it wasn’t you, perhaps it was me. I should have been stronger, I should have stood up to you a lot earlier. So this time I won’t let you win.
I’m not going to let you bully me. I think about sending you a tweet back, letting you know who I am. Deep down I know it’s not worth it. The last thing I need to do is to invite you back into my life. So the memory of us and the old me sits there on my twitter timeline, haunting me and serving as a painful reminder.
A reminder of how small our world has become.
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I have had a rather lovely reminder that I shouldn’t let the past stop me blogging in the present as I have been nominated for a BiB. Whoop! I would love it if you would take the time to vote for me. It couldn’t be easier click >>>>>>>>HERE Fill in your email and click on my blog. Quicker than making some toast.