In all things I am inconstant. My mood vacillates from extreme to extreme. I am capricious. I crave attention, and when it eludes me, I am petulant. But when it comes in spades, I recede from view.
I disabled Instagram today after seeing that my posts have been viewed many times over in the past few days. I cannot begin to guess who’d have any interest as to see silly lip-syncs from the past two years. If it is someone who knows me, I can’t imagine what they’d get out of viewing these things. And if it is a stranger, I feel overwhelmed by the attention.
I want to know why. But I’m afraid the answer would only drive me into further seclusion. And the checking of views distracts me and hardens the pit in my stomach.
I don’t want to be admired or explored from afar. I want truth and kindred and those things only happen away from the anonymity of social media. At the current moment, I have nothing to gain from the voyeuristic pursuits of those who wish to discover something deeper from one minute videos.
Are there secrets that lie within? Hidden meanings? Intricate meanings to be unlocked by the intended recipient? Of course. But the clues left behind are enigmatic and only they who endeavor to consult me would ever gain access to the truth. Almost everything has a purpose to it. But it isn’t the purpose most would guess. And the real meaning isn’t even in the posts. It’s in the conglomeration of shorter lip-sync videos I made between December 2019 and May 2020. Anyone could have seen those stories. I hope they derived some sort of entertainment or, at a minimum, some diversion from the daily doldrums that Covid induced. But every single one of those videos was aimed at a particular audience who still might be oblivious to their hidden meaning. But they did the intended job. One that is moot now.
I’m not enigmatic. I am a coward. So I’m running from the public gaze of whomever searches through the posts looking for whatever it is that escapes my perception.
I disabled Facebook as well. I have too many feelings right now. And not the drive to write about them in any way that would merit even a cursory reading by they who follow so diligently. So I’ll dive inward until I can regulate this pendulum’s constant swing and regain a modicum of composure and confidence.
The world shan’t lack for my tepid content. It isn’t revelatory or inspirational. It’s just merely my vein, opened wide and dripping in a constant flow of ones and zeros, the consumption of which leads me to feel nothing but overexposed and misunderstood I cannot correct without beckoning an ego I’ve tried so hard to conquer.
If the world needs me, they know how to find me directly. To ask me the questions whose answers they seek in short bursts of emotion encapsulated in song.
I don’t want to be a plaything for passive viewers. Or an object for those who wouldn’t consider my well-being for even an instant. I want real human connection. I want to grow. I want to feel. I want to stop worrying.
We’ll see how long this seclusion holds. At the moment I feel a cross between Emily Dickinson and J.D. Salinger…minus the talent.