I started an anonymous blog because I found that I was not able to be as honest about my life as I wanted to be in my writing. My previous blog was read by everyone I knew, and a lot of people I didn’t know, and this fact, for whatever reason, made it impossible for me to, well, be me.
As my audience grew, I watched the topics I felt comfortable writing about grow narrower and narrower. My boss was reading, so I couldn’t write about my job. My husband was reading, so I couldn’t write about my marriage. My husband’s family was reading, so I couldn’t write about sex or religion. My family was reading, so I couldn’t write about my childhood. My priest was reading, so I couldn’t write about church. Cautionary Lover was reading, so I couldn’t write about the affair. I was living life completely in secret, and my blog was a front. And it showed. In the end, all I wrote about was my dog and politics. My dog because he can’t read and politics because why the hell not.
In January, after writing a cryptic final post, I shut my blog down. Some of my readers I told about my new blog. Most I didn’t. Some found me. Most haven’t.
It’s only been a month since I began writing here, but the experience has been completely different from my previous blogging experience. Every day I write because I want to, not because I have to. About things I actually want to write about. Things I’m actually experiencing and feeling and thinking. The freedom of it all blows me away, and so many changes in my life have been set into motion these last few weeks simply because I’m stretching my legs and being me for the first time in years.
I have a friend who has some secrets she would like to share. I believe she’s experiencing a similar self-censorship on her own blog, except she’s strong enough in her own identity not to let it get the best of her. But, spurred on by the 25 Things craze on Facebook, she decided to write down 10 secrets, and I told her that I would post them here as her proxy.
I urge everyone to strive for honesty, whether it be on their public blogs, on their anonymous blogs, on their friends’ anonymous blogs, with their loved ones, or simply with themselves. You wouldn’t believe the difference it makes.
I was raped when I was 19 years old. It wasn’t a violent, Law & Order SVU kind of a rape, but it was still a rape and it still sucks.
That bastard stole my virginity. He had no idea.
I spent years after the rape having sex all over the place, trying to choose sex instead of having the choice made for me.
Once I had sex with two guys in a month. With one of them, the condom broke (a fact I wasn’t aware of until the next morning,) and with the other, there was no condom. I was terrified for a whole month that I would be pregnant and have no idea who the father was.
Now I think the only reason I didn’t get pregnant is because I can’t. I recently found out that there’s a pretty good chance I’ll never be able to have kids.
I am pretty tragically upset about the idea of never being able to have kids. Even though I wasn’t sure I wanted them in the first place, not having the option has been personally devastating.
The fact that my family won’t talk to me about my rape or sexual abuse is really depressing to me. My brother audibly scoffed when I told him what happened. Instead of protecting me like I always thought he would, he ignored and discounted what happened to me.
I love smoking. It contradicts everything about my life, so I don’t do it often. But I always want to.
In a small way, I am attracted to women. I thought that was really normal until recently, when I came to be aware that not everyone feels that same way. I think part of my attraction to females is because they have never hurt me, neither physically nor emotionally. This is something of a ‘mommy complex,’ I believe.
Starting at the age of 13, I was consistently sexually abused by a number of men for 3 years. I didn’t tell anyone (like my parents or legal authorities) about it because I was convinced it was my fault. I didn’t realize it was wrong for 30 year old men to implore/demand sexual acts from teenage girls. This abuse started before I even started my period.