Facebook has gotten difficult. It used to be my psychic safety valve. It used to be that everyone who had privileged access to that rocky mess of the outward expression of my inscape knew what they were in for.
Now, the damned thing is a burden. It’s every bit the morass of interpersonal and social anxiety that I took to Facebook to avoid in the first place.
I suppose it started when they let moms on. I began to second guess my posts lest my mom become worried. She has enough to worry about. Then came friend requests from casual acquaintances. And then potential in-laws. And now actual in-laws. Not to mention all the aunts and cousins I’ve accumulated on my friends list. (Not so many uncles, though.)
Of course, I could set up intricate privacy filters or a make a second account just for the people who really understand me. But that’s a lot of work when I’m just looking for a quick fix to blow off steam that would, unvented, create an explosive outburst in a real life setting.
But now I can’t. And twitter doesn’t do it for me anymore, either.
I know the socially acceptable thing is to just keep those feelings bottled up until, I don’t know, until you die, I guess.
I wish I could just put out a caveat on my Facebook profile that says, “understand that I have a social and communication disorder. The written word is my sacred refuge. It’s the easiest place for me to have my thoughts make sense sometimes. And sometimes my thoughts are doozies. Also, I may feel literal correctness is more important than social kindnesses when I’m posting or commenting. I know. It’s not exactly fair, but it’s what’s going to happen. If what you comment on my posts does not logically follow (or read as a well crafted joke) I might make a response that seems down right rude. It’s not that I don’t like you. It’s just that I can’t not respond that way.
My Facebook, when it really worked for me, was the secret whispers of a confused mind searching for order. I’m not on Facebook to post nicey-nicey fakey-fake happy-haps on how baller I want you to think my life is. It’s what I really think. Do you really want to know what I really think?
Then read my post.
And research your response.
And if you’re posting a joke, it had better be good.