I am hungover. And not a nice hungover (when you don’t feel too rough but can indulge in an excuse to be lazy all day). It’s finally warm and sunny outside, and I’m wasting the day inside, feeling hungry and nauseated at the same time. I’ve spent outs trying to figure out what to write. I’m terrified of all of my ideas, because people I know in real life might read this. Writing confessional stuff for complete strangers to read feels kind of liberating; the idea of people who have seen me in the flesh reading it is a nightmare. Like being stripped naked but a lot worse. (I actually don’t mind being naked that much.)

I find it hard enough to log in to Facebook. Something about Facebook generally makes me cringe inwardly. You’re encouraged to share everything there. It makes me feel exposed, like I can’t hide anything—and I really like to hide things. I like to keep things private. I have had a recurring dream for years now about needing to use a public toilet and something is always not quite being right, like the lock doesn’t work, or the stalls only come up to hip height. It’s kind of gross but I always figured it was my subconscious worrying about my privacy.

I wish I could give people a pill that would make them forget certain things I’ve said or done in front of them. I wish I could present a sort of contoured version of myself, editing out the embarrassing details. Maybe I am scared of being being “found out,” of being known. I have one friend whom I tell practically everything to, and I don’t have an ounce of fear around her, but that’s because of a trust I have built with her over years. She was the one I called when I didn’t know what else to do.

The worst thing, though, is hearing things about yourself from other people. That’s been happening to me a lot lately—people have been talking about me. I don’t know how to talk about it without talking about other people, who deserve their privacy, and anyway that would be hypocritical. All I can really say is that it doesn’t feel better than before, when no one even knew I existed. ♦