If you didn’t know my name and a bit of who I was I could probably tell you everything. It would be just me and you, the internet, together forever but not familiar with each other.
If I had chosen to be anonymous I could have gotten it out by now. I could have blurted out my feelings, spread them across the floor, and said, “Look. There it is. That’s me.” And it would have been me. A faceless me. Unhindered by the fear that identity brings. Completely freed from having to be that person that I’m supposed to be. That person that I need to be. A person with their life together whose secrets and fears will forever be closeted. That person that you politely smile at when you pass by at the grocery store versus that raging lunatic you watch on tv.
But I didn’t choose to be anonymous. I didn’t choose to hide my face. I chose to be me. As real as real can get me without being in some type of immediate internet danger. Because that’s what I wanted. I wanted someone; anyone really, any person passing by, searching the web and arriving here by accident, to see me, the ME me, as I am and as I intend to be. But I think I’m afraid of something. Can anyone truly be seen as a whole? Seen without being anonymous? As a person, rather than just an idea?
I’m not sure of it.
We see people daily and don’t think of them as people. They’re not real people who make mistakes, who are vulnerable, who are hurting inside but still going about their business. They’re merely shadows of what we think life should be like. Living examples of who’s doing it wrong. Objects to pass our judgment upon. Ideas to rid us of fear. Somehow people don’t turn into people until we meet them and successfully insert them into our lives. Before that they’re expendable just like every other person we know nothing about.
Before you meet them all people are living examples of anonymity. You see their face but you don’t know their feelings. Here you know their feelings but don’t see their face. It’s backwards and somehow beautiful, but it’s not something I could possibly be a part of.
There always seems to be something missing for me, like I’m always searching to be whole and find that society has barred me from being so. I feel like a living limitation. And I know because of that, that feeling of being forever incomplete, anonymity (a word I can’t even properly pronounce in my head) couldn’t possibly be the answer.