In the process of me recounting my anecdotes, my rage, my excitements, I shared not only of myself, but of those who I made contact with.
And when one of them comes to find much more of himself than he bargained for in a public forum, then this is a problem.
I breached his privacy, I betrayed his trust.
As chaotic and unfulfilled as I have felt in the past few weeks, this new shame is the biggest guilt. It’s far from a pleasant experience, stumbling onto something about you but so far from being appropriate for your eyes. I don’t know how to begin to apologise to him.
But to those I mistakenly trusted with my secrets, my anonymity, do not even come to me pretending to be my friend.
The irony here is a cruel joke. I breached his trust, someone breached mine, and it’s all come full circle.
I intended no malice or embarrassment on anyone, this was my personal haven after all. But the trouble with disguises is they’re never foolproof; after all, a secret is only a secret if three people know about it and two of them are dead. I should have known better than to think I would not be found out.
To the one I have embarrassed and shamed, you’re not a douchebag or an arsehole as your message said. With my head down and my tail between my legs, I’m sorry.
Now fuck off, the rest of you.
