When Friends Know Too Much (And Where I Hide The Bodies)

I used to post here more regularly. Over the years it became less and less. Really, I have so much to say! It’s just that for one reason or another I have more difficulty with the words. My writer’s block often comes from, perhaps, my own imagination and being afraid to share my life and thoughts.

I have personally met and come to know many people from social media, and they, me. It is wonderful to have so many connections! Most came to know me over social media and events because of how I used Twitter and social networking to find housing and get off the streets when I was homeless. Social media and speaking at events has allowed me to open up more, sharing my feelings and life with the world. As others follow me in real life and online they get to know more about me – as I call it, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I know it’s probably just me, but I keep thinking that once people learn more about me and my mental health issues, they will no longer want to be around me. Nobody ever wants to hang out over coffee or something. Where as I was once included as a friend, I am now forgotten about, or so it seems.

Sometimes it may be true that stigma or other reasons may play a part. In reality, I think my mind, in sense, tries to “bury” when I feel that perhaps my friends know too much about me, and how crazy I am. So I become more secluded with each rejection. They can’t know more about me if I don’t talk. The more I stay in seclusion, the more socially awkward I become. That in turn can lead to more problems with my mental health. I may avoid people, opting instead for watching TV, using the internet, or playing games on my tablet.

I used to post about everything on this blog. Now for several reasons I choose to censor myself… way too much. There are feelings I should sometimes talk about – if not with a real person, at least a virtual one. But I am afraid. I am afraid that I will not be accepted by others. Though so many people have felt similarly before. I know those people would understand. But I am silent.

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Reliving desperation and admiration

I interviewed with a BBC Radio show today. (It won’t air until next week. I’ll let you know when.) The topic for the host started out as basically, people being almost addicted to their cell phones. Then by chance during an internet search she came across my story.

If you somehow aren’t aware yet, I first joined Twitter and social media in 2009 while I was homeless. What started out as me not knowing a thing about Twitter or how to even use it, quickly grew to experiences that I’d have never dreamed of ever having! I could use computers at the library during the day, but other than that, I mostly tweeted by SMS/text message from my phone. My phone was my life — my dire connection to the world in my times of need. I could call someone, text or email by SMS. I didn’t have a smartphone. Just a simple, basic phone. A dumb phone. In fact, that’s the type of phone I use now.

I had unlimited texting so I could post messages to Twitter as much as I wanted, anytime I wanted, all day and all night. Whenever I had a need to say something. Which, back then, was quite a lot! I posted about my activities, shared thoughts or information on jobs or things I heard about, and wrote volumes of tweets from my emotions.

Fear, anxiety, and prayers dominated many of my tweets. I shared a number of hopes and wishes, too. There were many nights I lied on the ground, afraid and paranoid that someone would come up to me in the night. Is someone watching? Is someone here? Who is here watching me? Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) affected me severely. There I was alone, but I couldn’t tell because my mind conjured up invisible people who might have been lurking.

I kept my “security blanket” tightly in hand all night. My phone was my connection to the world. Anytime I needed to say something, to vent, to express my fears, somebody was able to hear me. I couldn’t get their replies until I went to the computers at the library the next day, but they were there. Somebody cared. Another person suffered the same plight of PTSD once. I’m really not alone.

The tweets from my phone led to development of virtual and real-life relationships with people and businesses. Through my sincerity and openness of my life, stigma changed to acceptance, understanding, and kindness. I got to see God’s love in action, and emotion. These people — my social media followers — said that I changed them for the better. What I saw is how they changed me.

Sharing my story online and in real life at speaking engagements has helped me to open up. I am still shy and very socially awkward, but I am much more open with my emotions. Having constant access to my phone and being able to tweet by text has been extremely therapeutic.

I still tweet Clint Eastwood style — the good, the bad, and the ugly. Sometimes I feel that I share too much. But I need to get things out. Sometimes I need to vent. In a way, being able to tweet and vent my emotions is more than emotionally therapeutic. It can also be protective against bad thoughts so I don’t try to self-injure. I haven’t done any cutting in however many years. It doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes still have those thoughts about doing it. So I greatly appreciate the kindness and compassion from all of you, my followers. A small gift, a kind word, a hug. It means the world to me! God’s love in action, indeed.

I discussed all of these areas and more on the BBC Radio show. (Again, I will share the link to the broadcast after it airs.) Talking about these things have so much effect on me emotionally! Ever since then my thoughts have been on all of my followers and how you have affected me, the place you have in my heart. I am reliving the desperation of my past and the admiration and love for the compassion I have received. Thank you all so much!

PS: Side note to Joan of Real Time Paradigm, my blogging teacher at NextDoor:  I clicked “Publish”! 😜