I mean, I’m scared to death of a lot of things. But telling the truth, even if it makes me look really bad in the process, isn’t one of those things.
And you all know that if I do something really stupid, but I think it will make for a super funny story, I will totally tell you, right?
Plus, I’m always posting photos of myself like this on my blog:
So that’s got to count for something in the honesty department, right?
While I usually have no problem coming clean about the not so pretty truths of my life on my blog, I am more than a bit guilty of sugar-coating the daily details of my life on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram.
For example, last week, I posted this photo on my Facebook page with the caption “Just another day on the farm…”:
Like, ho hum, look at me, just hanging out in PARADISE where cows quietly munch on grass and sunbeams follow me around wherever I go.
What you can’t see in this photo is all the piles of manure I had to crop out.Which, I guess when you think about it, is kind of a metaphor for a lot of what I do on the Internet.
I crop out the shit, so to speak.
It’s not lying, exactly.
It’s just cutting out the negatives to focus on the positives.
Even when I’m not feeling particularly positive.
And while I don’t want to be dishonest, I also don’t want to be that person. You know, the one who’s always complaining in her Facebook status updates about her job or the weather or the fact that it’s Monday.
Even though I suspect that in real life I’m totally that person. Because, seriously, you guys, what’s the deal with Mondays? I mean, nobody likes them, so why won’t they just go away already?
Like, the fact that I pack the exact same lunch for myself almost every single day: a turkey sandwich, carrot sticks, hummus and mini-pretzels.
And the fact that I wear the same outfit almost every single Wednesday.
And the fact that I drink more herbal tea than alcohol these days.
Sure, you can go ahead and think I’m some spontaneous, boozy, world traveler person, but I’m actually your typical seventy-year-old, school librarian. You know, the one who wears holiday-themed cardigans covered in cat hair and doesn’t know how to work the VCR.
I AM HER.
SHE IS ME.
WE ARE ONE.Lately, though, I’ve been finding it harder and harder to crop out the proverbial manure.
You see, ever since I moved home I’ve been dealing with depression.
I know a lot of this has had to do with the stress of moving home and starting a new job and a new life and not really having much of a social circle.
But I also know that depression can hit you wherever you are or whatever job you happen to be working or not working or however many friends you happen to have or not have.
I’ve dealt with depression off and on for years. I’ve even talked about it on my blog before. Admittedly, I don’t talk about it as much as I talk about bacon or unicorns or cuddly kitty cats. Because talking about my depression doesn’t make me feel better. It just makes me feel worse. Talking about cuddly kitty cats, though, that’s a different story.
I certainly don’t talk about my struggle with depression on social media. I mean, I’m not going around posting photos of dead flowers on Instagram with captions like, “These are my FEELINGS. Gahh!” Or leaving Facebook status updates like: “Hey, guys! Finding it really hard to get out of bed today! LOL. Depression is such a STUPID JERK FACE, amirite or AMIRITE?”
Does this make me dishonest?
But, frankly, there’s this part of me that hopes that if I can just delete depression from my Facebook status updates and my Twitter feed, then maybe I can just delete it from my life once and for all.
Just like how I can leave out the Mondays and the mundane bits and the mini-pretzels.
Well, not all the mini-pretzels.
I do kind of like the mini-pretzels.Are you honest on the Internet? Come on, be honest.