because since then, a paranoia: with every follower on social media (linked to my real name, of course) i always wonder: is that...? especially if the name matches. or if a nickname works. i'm saying this here because while it feels like paranoia, it's not entirely unfounded. you were found before, goes the whisper in my head. and i was. so i censor little things, obscure others, in the off-chance that somebody wrong's still reading.
i hate it because it's absurd. i hate it because that person, like most people, is probably just scrolling instagram and facebook while streaming bridgerton or nailed it! off netflix, eating frozen pizza, ignoring the increasing number of grey hairs, watching the same light dim. i mean, who makes a webpage in 2023? essentially no one. who actually cares about other people's webpages? it's basically the same set.
some part of me reminds myself to be careful; the rest of me screams to let go. but i can't, i just can't. sometimes i'll post something deeply personal and cathartic, wait a minute, hit delete. sometimes i write an entry here (or elsewhere, under other names) and then write a second, more open, post later. because as much as i know in my heart (and via gossip, a long time ago) that i'm utterly forgettable, i know that's not really true, is it? that i've got interests and interiority, that i'm not content to just let the days pass. i'm someone who opens up online, perhaps against all better judgement; and if i occasionally look someone up, wondering what they're doing, it would be silly to assume nobody does the same for me.