Ever since you were almost found out, you’ve been reading your own blog lately, much like an outsider. You’re curious about how people see you. Some of the things you’ve written about make you look so flippant, so frivolous that you wonder why people even read what you write.
The more you read the more convinced you are that the truth is doing a pretty crappy job of setting you free. Instead, you’d feel so awkward and vulnerable and so, so embarrassed if anyone found out who you really are! Truth is definitely not setting you free.
Unless (how you love that word), unless you’re sure that you’re doing everything in your power to stay anonymous. You must be careful. No personal details. No mention of anyone’s names. A carefully selected sequence of events. A carefully edited sequence of events. Not that there is a sequence to your writing anyway.
You google your blog to see if it links back to you in any way; if it gives out any of your other email addresses. You check to see if there are any pictures of you lurking in the shadows. You’re turning into a twisted version of narcissus, aren’t you?
Is this writing even worth the risk?