“What was life and myself like before I utilized Twitter to parade my internal monologues, turning myself into an exposé?”

Sometimes I wish I could go back to time before Twitter.

Where my thoughts and internal monologue were mine, all mine, save for any that I decide to share via this space and only this space – blogphilic, of course. I wish for a time when things – situations, scenarios, feelings, and ultimately thoughts – weren’t so easily simplified and broken down into 140 characters as fleeting as dust that rests on our skins, thoughtlessly flicked away. I wish for a time when I wasn’t judged for every sentiment and thought that ran through me, then thoughtlessly shared, at specific points in time – ‘real-time’ they call it, though it always makes me wonder how much reality ergo truth is truly captured in that second-minute-hour – and myself, less judgmental of others, real and pseudo-imaginary.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to time before Twitter.

Where I don’t trivialize or try so hard to downplay everything as I carefully edit and punctuate only to (deep sigh) delete entirely. Or worse – when I impulsively type away, only to regret deeply later. Where I recognize my silly side, but kept it to myself. Where I don’t try to justify everything that I feel, think, and like. Where I was something of a mystery, belonging to myself first and the next nineteen times before I belong to anyone else. Where my thoughts and sentiments are contextualized not misinterpreted; belittled; trifled; eye-rolled; shrugged off; ignored… Where I was more confident about what I feel and think, both the jagged and blunt edges that make up the person that I am and the mind that I have.

What was life before Twitter?

Was I lonelier? Was I more truthful? Was I nicer? Was I more mysterious? Was I more closed up? Was I going crazy internalizing everything, endlessly making conversations with myself? Was I less judgmental? Was I just as straightforward?

Was I this, was I that? Was I was I was I-

What was life before Twitter?

Because I’ve made friends there. It’s easier and faster to keep in touch via that medium versus this space. I’ve gained new readers, I think, and have more or less learned to relax myself in the online public eye. I think.

I am happy, I think. I am still myself, I think.

I think I think I think-

Sometimes I wish I could go back to time before Twitter.

A time when I was myself and my thoughts, loving, feelings and ‘real-time’ endeavors were known only to myself and people I let in – selectively, carefully, and slowly. There was a time, I’m sure there was a time when I was less judgmental of real and fictional people as well as celebrities and fellow online pals and random passerby. I’m certain of it; there was a time when I was not constantly questioning my truthfulness, filtering thoughts. I was, maybe, happier being a private person.

What was my life, myself, before Twitter?

Sometimes I think I don’t remember, and it genuinely scares me. Yet every time I am at the ‘Deactivate Account’ check mark page, I have a hard time pressing ‘Save Changes.’ Damnit. If I erase my Twitter archives, I think to myself, does that mean I am effectively erasing connections made, random and scattered thoughts documented and at present, 26,304 140-character tweets of thoughts, opinions, and sentiments that I oftentimes wish I could take back or never posted in the first place? A pause. Another thought: was I better – more pleasant and peaceful, internally and externally – when I stayed veiled?

Sometimes I wish I could go back to time before Twitter.

And lately I keep wishing that if I have the courage to post random, scattered – mostly silly, sometimes killjoy – thoughts… well then, shouldn’t I have the courage to erase them? Take responsibility, right a wrong?

What was life – my life – like before Twitter?

Sometimes I think I don’t remember, and it genuinely scares me.

Because I want so desperately to belong to myself again, where my internal monologues aren’t erased and edited, as if carefully curated, for an audience that I think need not stay for this – my – show. For instance, I know I think too much – it’s not something I think; I know – but in a way – do I sound crazy yet? – I wish that was something only I knew.

Because maybe I want my midnight thoughts to be mine alone; my 2 AM thoughts to be those selectively chosen to be featured here; my late-night tears and bad days to be episodes that only I and those around me, physically, are in the know about. Maybe I want to stop giving myself away so shamelessly and carelessly; maybe I want to grow up privately.

What was life and myself like before I utilized Twitter to parade my internal monologues, turning myself into an exposé?

Sometimes I wish I have real courage to go back to time before Twitter.

(maybe I will)

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4 thoughts on ““What was life and myself like before I utilized Twitter to parade my internal monologues, turning myself into an exposé?”

  1. Every few weeks to a month I scroll back through whatever I’ve written on Twitter and casually delete things that I’m either a) embarrassed about or, b) are probably a little too revealing. Some of that is because I’m genuinely afraid of posting things that if someone in real life *laughs, that word..* were to accidentally stumble onto it, they’d recognize who I am, and there got my internet sanctuary. Other times, well, I don’t want to be thought of as “that person who got drunk and rambled too much” and it’s as simple as that. Other times of course, I just turn off the switch that says I even care what people think. This is me, tough.

    I think I’m funny on twitter because I very rarely reblog things, especially the million Exo pics/gifs that I see/favorite on a daily basis. I don’t want to irritate followers/friends who know me through non-Exo related things, old drama bloggers, YOU, haha. But the real reason is that, I already have a Tumblr for all that nonsense. I like my Twitter to be me in all my randomness. I’m still very bipolar when it comes to the things I say, reverses the things I don’t say. It’s like I’m constantly trying to invent or reinvent my identity on there, and that puzzles me. All I know is that, most days.. I like it. And some times, well I just laugh at myself and sigh and close down the tab for a day.

      1. Your typos and/or grammatical errors have never bothered me. Your comments are those I look forward to even this day. Thanks again for dropping a note in this …trying times. I’m seriously considering deleting my Twitter. I feel like an exposé these days, and the person that I am – especially she who’s self-conscious about what she puts out and she who is judgmental about people, fictional and real. I don’t feel and seem nice and I’m not, truthfully, but I don’t think it’s something I ought to be proud of and parade. You said: “All I know is that, most days.. I like it.” And that’s the thing with me – I don’t like myself; not the person who types behind the account as she edits and punctuates and freely shares internal monologue for nobody’s business because it is nobody’s business, and not the person on that account who makes fun of things and people, hardcore judging.

        I think I’m at an existential crisis, serious identity crisis – online – lately. Forgive me.

  2. It seems like you already know what the best decision for yourself is.

    If you’re not ready to deactivate your account, you could take a less drastic step and see how you feel about it. Such as only logging in on Twitter once a day. Or not going on Twitter for one day or a couple days. Go gradually. When I realized I was spending too much time on Twitter, I made a goal to only log in once a day. Of course sometimes I don’t reach that goal, but with practice I no longer log in as often as before.

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