Here I am. Sitting down, pretending not to care if anyone else ever reads this, that I'm just too lazy to write in a diary, while deep down hoping that someone else will read this, just like every blogger in existance. There you are, my what-seems-to-be-imaginary reader, of whom at the moment I have dubbed "Frankie." Like many fellow writers, we cast our most secret thoughts and vulnerable feelings to an unknown world. To these strangers, these unseen minds, we decide to show and give all of ourselves, without any reservation. We feel safe to be ourselves, as long as we, and our readers (or, in my case, imaginary "Frankies") can remain anonymous. My question is this-why?



Why do we only feel safe to be our full selves when no one knows who we are? What does this say about our friends? Our family? Our most dependable and unbreakable bonds? What is wrong with who we really are in the first place? I mean, here I am,willingly sending out my thoughts, unprotected, to the dangerous site of the World Wide Web. By doing this I am exposing myself to serial killers, rapists, kidnappers, stalkers, and the people who have "two girls one cup" marked under their "favorites" tab. And that list still doesn't include the crazy people who walk around thinking they are the reincarnation of Elvis Presley or Lady Gaga's kindred soul. But worst of all, I am exposing myself to the everyday mean and cynical people who have no reason to be anything less than cruel, not with their identities hidden so no one can trace the comments back to them. And people are always more ruthless, more vile when they have a cloak to hide themselves behind, such as an anonymous note on the web. The group last mentioned is the type of people I will probably see most of, instead of the other beings listed before them ( Well, perhaps besides the "two girls one cup" people, based on what always seems to be the most popular apps on itunes). And I am exposing myself to this ruthlessness because I would rather show myself to random untrustworthy strangers, than to the people closest to me.



And it is the same with so many other people. It seems that sometimes, the more we love someone, the more we care about them, the less we trust them with ourselves. We would rather risk being judged by the ruthless society of the rest of the world than risk showing then slightest hint of vulnerability to the people we supposedly trust the most. We've all done it or seen it in some form or the other. Maybe in the form of a little girl writing to her pen pal whom she's never met, or in the form of the middle aged woman spilling her guts to her new hair dresser instead of her husband, or you telling your life story to the cashier at Kmart, who will later tell her best friend some crazy person made her "die of boredom." We've all told something to someone we barely know instead of someone we DO know and love because we are "afraid of what they'll think" or "what they'll say." Why are we so willing to let the people we feel we can't trust see our faults and vulnerabilities instead of the people we feel we can? If we believe in the strength of our friends, our families so much, shouldn't we be able to show them who we really are without fear? Isn't that supposedly one of the reasons we love them so much in the first place, because we can be who we truly are with them, without fear of judgment? Isn't that what's supposedly makes the relationships so special, so valuable? What does this say about us? About you? About me? When did we fall so deeply into the routine of being the "Good ol' Susie," that everyone knows and loves, that we became afraid to show any other side of ourselves?



I came to this thought a few months ago, when peer editing in class. Told to exchange papers with someone we didnt know, I eventually ended up with no choice but to exchange it with a friend, because everyone else had been taken. This friends was EXTREMELY unhappy with this, and seemed shaken by the fact that I was reading their paper. When I read the paper I discovered why-it spoke of their previous shyness and pain in past school years. Although sad, I found it odd that they would rather have someone they didn't know and trust read their doubts and vulnerabilities than a friend. It's just odd how it works, we love and depend on our friends and families so much that when it comes down to it we often prefer to show ourselves to strangers instead, preferring to hear their harsh ridicule and rumors then risk even the slightest judgement in a loved ones eyes. We hide ourselves from the one small group that we are supposed to be able to show ourselves to, and instead become a one or two dimension version of our true selves in front of them. The other fuller version we show to people who can never track us down, we show our whole selves to the complete stranger, because we know to them we are just a stranger as well. It's odd how it's sometimes easier to talk to a stranger than someone you know. It's odd how with love and care comes doubt and fear.






Anyway, sorry for all the grammatical and mechanical errors I'm sure you will find. I'll try to actually edit my thoughts next time.