Tiny Coconut

I have things.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006


Rich asked, in response to my two-days-ago post about N's self-grooming attempts, "You don't really consider your blog anonymous, do you?"

Funny he should ask that. A good number of weeks ago, I'd started to write the following entry after several of you noted that I'd posted the first-ever photos of myself on this blog:

I started this blog in complete anonymity, and for more than a year, I kept it there, sometimes by sheer force of will. Blogging is such a personal act for me, and it seems wrong, somehow, to stay hidden behind a pseudonym, to remain unseen. Plus, to be blunt, I’ve never been one to shun attention, and yet there I was, trying to balance my need to be read, to be heard, and my need to keep myself and, more importantly, my family, out of sight.

All of this, of course, was because of her. Stalker Girl. It’s hard to visualize the border between realistic caution and true paranoia when there really is someone out to get you or those you love. I’d witnessed Stalker Girl not only track me down via my maiden name, but also track down one of my sisters-in-law. I’d experienced the terror of knowing there was a paid investigator out there, somewhere, watching me, Baroy, and the kids. I’d tried to live with the uncertainty of what else, who else, she might pay for, and what task she might set for them.

I got interrupted or distracted or something right at that point, so never finished the post. But what I'd wanted to say, what I would have probably said better when the thought was fresh in my mind, was that I knew and had always known that I am not Stalker Girl's target. It has taken me this long to take that to its logical conclusion; to ralize that photos of me on this blog are neither part of the problem nor part of its solution. What I'm trying to do is to keep Stalker Girl from finding and reading this blog, simply because I don't want her knowing anything about me and my family or gathering information she can use to hurt us. And so I won't ever trumpet my full name from these pages, because I see no reason for her to be here unless she's led there by a link like that. But a photo of me? What the fuck. I'm gonna live dangerously.

I've even gone so far as to post photos of the kids. But, you'll notice, not photos that would let you really know what they look like. Photos where they're in costume, or wearing hats, or where their faces are obscured. Photos that tell you about their personalities, but not photos that would let you recognize them if, say, you saw them on the street; if, say, you were planning to take them, or hurt them. Not that I think about that much, of course. Only all the time.

And so it's a dance. It's not only my dance; it's the dance of every blogger out there. Some of us use our full names; others use our first names; some use pseudonyms. Some of us go to great lengths to hide even the state we live in; others practically give out our phone numbers and addresses. We do these things for various reasons; we get slammed for those reasons, all the time. But we do what we need to do, to find the balance that lets us do what we love to do--to write, to reach out, to meet new people, to talk things out--without sacrificing the people we love.

Or at least that's what I'm trying to do. I know I'm not anonymous here. I know I'm barely pseudonymous any more, what with that permanent link to my book over there. But I'm still not ready or willing to stand here with a big flashing arrow above my head, screaming, "Hey Stalker Girl! It's me, Real Name; wife of Guy You Stalk! Over here! Come and get me, beeyotch! I dare you!"

As Baroy often says, I may be crazy, but I ain't stupid. I'm just trying to do the best I can. And not give up the things that make me happy, and keep me sane.

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