Anon. A word that is so often next to articles, hymns, poems. The sign of no identity.
I am (I hope) anonymous on this blog. I’ve written about this before, but it’s going around and around in my head so it’s being written down again.
As far as I know, only two people I know have uncovered this and known it was me: one deliberately, the other, the latest, I’m willing to give the benefit of the doubt. He said he came across it and didn’t realise who it was initially, and as he has his own blog somewhere that’s more than plausible. It may take me time, but I’m hoping there’s no lasting damage there; he’s one of my closest friends.
I don’t want there to be anything lasting from it, but I feel like I’ve been pulled open, parts of my skull just torn away and exposed for the world. Which is ridiculous. For a start, anyone can read this. It’s just that most people don’t know who I am, which somehow keeps me intact. But when someone comes along and recognises me behind the writing, it’s suddenly in another dimension. Like someone reading your journal when they don’t have permission.
It’s brought back the doubts I had about being an anonymous writer. Can I be me when I have no identity? I had a brilliant response to that, and that convinced me that I could, but I’ve now had two people find me. Let’s face it, anyone I know could stumble across this; it’s not hard to identify me from the writing.
The irony is, they’d find out who I am by reading this: it’s not a false persona, if anything the me they know is a false persona. I hide so much from the world, even the people who know me best. In general I am an honest person, I don’t particularly like lying and I’m not very good at it. So why am I so anxious about my friends learning about me? About what’s wrong, about who I am, about… well, me.
A little interjection… ‘Iris’ just came on my play list… of all the irony.
Back onto a serious note: why am I afraid of being who I am? Maybe I don’t know who that person is. I’m so up in the air most of the time, I can’t keep track.
- I’ve had severe depression and anxiety for seven years
- I’ve developed a taste for rarer psychotic episodes since January 2015
- I have arrythmogenic right ventricular cardiomyopathy which causes many fainting episodes (although far fewer now with management)
- I am a musician, and a very good one at that
- I am a lifeguard. I’ve saved lives.
- I am a daughter and a sister
- I love sports, especially those to do with water
- I’m not very good at making friends
- All of my instruments have names and I get very attached to things/people who I love
- I love hot chocolate. It’s probably quite an unhealthy obsession.
- I am very very stubborn.
- I’m a bad person
- I like gaming
- My band family may as well be my real family; I love them all so much
- I’m very surprised that I’m still alive as I think back over my life
- I am a very faulty human being
- I want to change the education system (I have small goals)
- That or I want to emigrate to Australia
- I really don’t know how to describe myself
That’s me keeping track. Took the best part of half an hour. Some people you can ask to describe themselves and like a snap of the fingers they can tell you. I’d hand you a scroll if I had one.
I think I’ve answered my question though; that list there, that describes what most people know about me (bar the first three). But anyone could walk past me and not know; you could meet me and not know; you can essentially be anonymous but also have that portion of identity to enable people to know you, to acknowledge part of you, no matter how big or small.
We all have secrets; I don’t think anyone could deny that. Some are bigger than others. Some are parts of us, parts of our personality, our past, our lives. We can hide them and still be us though. No matter how close people get, we can still keep those portions locked away wherever we feel they are safest.
I think that’s ok?