Apr. 25th, 2010

redzils: (Default)
I write here. Some of you can see it, most of the world cannot.

I lock things because I get naked on the innernet. Not my physical body, silly, just my raw, tender thinking and feeling parts.  I need to write like that, to process, to prove I exist, and to record the revolutions.

I keep thinking about getting a Big Girl Blog and putting all these thoughts - some worked finely, most vomited on to the pixelated page - up for consumption. I read blogs and admire people who parse their lives in writing, Out Loud, where their experience and reflections can inform the world. Some days I feel that I owe it to the innernet to hold up my end of the ... not a conversation exactly, since it isn't dyadic or direct .... dialogue, maybe? by freely sharing mine.

But I keep coming back to the doughnut of self-protection that I learned about in a college self-defense class. Our instructors pointed out that you are safest beyond an attacker's reach. This makes sense, right? You can run away, they cannot hit or grab you, and you are safe. If you cannot achieve that, the next safest place is pressed against an attacker - it's not as safe, because they can reach you and you cannot flee - but they also lack leverage to really shake or hit you. At that distance, it's wrestling, sure, but you can fight back and you know what they are doing with their body. The most dangerous place to be is arm's reach - between, say, one and three feet away. At that range, you can be grabbed and pummeled, strangled and abused. 

I am comfortable sharing my tender spots with the doughnut hole: people who care about me and have earned a spot inside my journal filter. These people cradle me, metaphorically pressed to my side. Outside the doughnut, I feel safe with the world at large, since I am not doing anything immoral or illegal and my thoughts might aid someone looking for common experience or hope on the innerwebnets.  

But, it is scary to think about that doughnut.  I shudder to think that people who know me and have pinched my raw places, who may use what I share to hurt my feelings or as evidence to help them feel superior, who could turn what I share against me at work or in my relationships could access my inner truths. People I work with do not need that access. Nor do the few people from my non-torrid but somewhat complicated past need the leverage.

I do not want a blog I cannot provide content for, and, at the moment, too much truth is all I have.


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