Now that my blog is published, I can see the statistics. People are looking at it, from all over the world. It’s amazing to see. But I’m still scared to show it. I don’t know whom I can show it to. I lost a friend over this. At least I thought we were friends. But she probably didn’t like the fact that I posted a naked picture of myself. That made me really sad. She used to call me wife on Facebook. Facebook and Instagram and all those social media platforms are just empty frameworks. They offer nothing but a container and advertising, a brilliant marketing plot. Machiavelic. People create the content and they do it for free. It’s a fantasy, an illusion. Real friends don’t need it. I would love to put Blogger in my LinkedIn career section. But then, I would be a victim to the Ego Machine again. Because it’s just another social network. I’m not sure I would be able to handle the critical remarks. I’m still in withdrawal and I still dream about social media.
I’m still looking for people I thought I’ve lost. Very few are looking for me.
There are almost 8 billion people on the planet and I’m scared because of a website. It’s ridiculous. But it isn’t to me. My OCD tells me it’s the most important thing in the world. I dream about hashtags. I write emails to myself, with instructions, what picture to add, what text to correct, what plugins to try.
I get up at 5AM, terrified to turn on the phone. I try to calm down and read. I quit coffee, I’m less anxious.
Today, a friend is coming to visit. I’ve never met her in real life. That scares me too. Because people scare me. I feel awkward and inadequate around people. That’s why I usually keep to myself.
I should show my Twitter feed to my psychiatrist. Everything is there. Or show her this blog. But I need to find a way to express myself in front of people. Talk to them. Above all, listen to them. But this is the hardest part, listen.
Now I’ve written in English again. May-be I should have done it in French. Afin de mieux enrober mes pensées. I can never chose. I need another pseudonym. I’m still thinking about creating more. I need one in Dutch, but I’m clueless. I use five so far. But that’s not enough. As I write this in my black notebook, with a Rotring metal pencil, 0.7, I’m thinking about the pictures I’m going to use to illustrate it. I have thousands of pictures. It’s a dilemma. I download my old DeviantArt pictures and put them here. They are owned by Wix now, it’s not as it used to be. It’s like Tumblr. They change their politics, you’re censored.
I hate making choices. Because as soon as I’ve made one, I instantly regret it and wish I could go back and do it differently. I do that on Twitter too. I know it’s just a brain disorder.
This blog has a Facebook page. That’s what I give to people. It doesn’t really need a Facebook page. I’m never sure what to put there. I try to keep it black&white. But I want people to like it. I shouldn’t really care if they do. I like it, that’s important. That’s why I started it in the first place, to have a place to write and express myself and put my art and pictures. Maybe I should take a break. Let it rest for a while. Start working on my other website. I will eventually. But I don’t feel ready, not yet. I have started, but it’s much too early to publish it. My strive for perfection forbids me to deactivate the coming soon plugin. I think about reactivating it on this blog every day. It’s just a click.
But I won’t. Not just yet.
I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain
Frank Herbert, Dune
Oh Baby, here comes the fear again.
Pulp
The end is near again.
A monkey’s built a house on your back.
You can’t get anyone to come in the sack
& here comes another panic attack.
Oh here we go again