My Year on Twitter.

December 20, 2011 at 2:46 pm (Polyamory, Real Life, Uncategorized) (, , , , )


I started my Twitter account on January 1. My hasty first tweet, now lost to all except the Library of Congress, contained a mortifying language error for someone so obsessed with the written word. Over 6,000 tweets later, I don’t care so very much about those mistakes. But I do care very much about Twitter and the friendships I have formed there.

Twitter was, from the beginning, my hiding place and my outlet. Alice Digitalis is the expression of my id, sloppy and sexual and loud sometimes, serious and contemplative and introspective sometimes. I didn’t hold many thoughts back. I wasn’t trying to entertain anyone, but I built a small following anyway, I suppose by being real – not always about sex, not always about self-examination, but an odd mix that showed I was human. 

It was intended to be a place to share my sexual thoughts, discoveries and adventures, primarily. At the time that I started using Twitter, I’d realized how much I’d let my sexual self stagnate, how much I had turned off in favor of being wife, wage slave, caretaker, supporter of others. I missed my sexual self and I wanted her to come out and play. I didn’t intend to use Twitter to meet sex partners, or even to flirt, but just to express the desires, needs, memories and fantasies that I couldn’t express anywhere else. This blog came about as an extention of that, a place for longer ramblings about sex and relationships.

A few months into the year, I met someone with whom I felt a real connection, for the first time in years, and began the first true polyamorous relationship in the context of my open marriage. Some of the ups and downs of that relationship have been chronicled via Twitter, for better or worse. A lot of the self-examination necessary in maintaining open relationships has spilled on to Twitter. My emotional breakdown and my work to regain emotional strength at the end of summer also found its way onto Twitter. My discovery of an intense new love and the sudden snuffing of that flame have also been exposed to readers’ eyes.

After that last event, however, I felt stifled. I started reconsidering what I was doing on Twitter. I found myself more frequently deleting posts that never made it to the timeline. I censored myself, and I hated doing it, but I was afraid. I was feeling exposed and vulnerable and raw. I knew things I said could be twisted and misinterpreted. I was suddenly hyper-aware that once the words left my fingers, I couldn’t control them. I lost my enthusiasm for sharing my random thoughts, my sexual drives, my lonely contemplations, my moments of weakness and wanton desire.

I’m slowly getting it back, that freedom of expression. It will probably never be the same. But my relationships will never be the same. I will never be the same. We change in every moment, with every breath.

I can honestly say I love Twitter, the short form, the need to be precise in each expression. It helps me think and focus. It has helped me grow. It is not the safe place I thought it was, but sometimes I think all safety is an illusion. I’ll keep taking the risk. I’ll keep yelling small stories and bad jokes and sorrows (to paraphrase The Weakerthans). I’ll keep sharing the messy highs and lows, feeling sorry for myself, finding moments of peace and contentment, and sharing what passes through my brain. In a world where perfection is unattainable, it is the perfect place for my sort of nonsense.

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