“And then in January, while I was still deciding if I really had it in me to do my job at all, I wrote three dumb tweets that accidentally thrust me into the spotlight. Someone wrote an article. My Twitter followers quintupled, there were more interview requests, strange men started digging up my photos to determine if I was fuckable. Someone DMed me my old address and told me they knew where I lived.
Offline, I am not much of a presence. I’m an introvert. I don’t like it when people look at me for too long. I prefer not to speak in meetings. I hate parties. Attention makes me nervous; I’ve always preferred to blend into the background.
Online, I am unburdened by my shyness. From the time we got dial-up internet when I was a young child, I’ve been finding kindred spirits inside my computer to discuss the things I can’t bring myself to say out loud. But as I aged, as my personal presence became intrinsically linked to my career, catharsis became a burden. I’d managed to cultivate a public internet presence while maintaining a modicum of privacy until, overnight, it was gone.”
Frankly, the fact that this tweet exists is disgusting.