This is yet another post written out of anger. Hell, even the bold text that is explaining the situation is being written with angry hands. I digress, I have left the original text intact because altering it would change my feelings at the time. I can always write another post about the same topic, but I refuse to pretend I didn’t feel this way about it at one point.
The subtweet is the defining backhand of my generation. A snide comment made in front of somebody without calling them out by name. Being able to maintain a discreet connection and an indiscreet comment is nearly impossible. Just like any sort of derogatory (or supportive) remarks before the advent of Twitter, the mystery of who the source of anger (or happiness) is not a challenging one.
I say this because, without presenting yourself as an anonymous voice, connections are constantly made between what we say and what we are talking about. Certain words and phrases elicit different reactions from people and one could craft sentences using these to demean and detract someone without ever having mentioned their name. In a perfect world, the audience of the voice wouldn’t question the source of the anger and respect their privacy. We live in an imperfect world.
The bitterness between the “@ me next time, bitch” crowd is, as it always has been, extreme. Even small comments made about trivial things get met with volatile reactions. If it is not from the offender knowing that the remark was made about him, it is the discovery by an unrelated party fueling the fire that creates a maelstrom of hurt and conflict.
This presents an issue, particularly for a blogger who uses this as an outlet for their emotions, and it is not one with a simple answer. How am I able to write about injustices done to me and keep the innocent and guilty parties nameless when my viewing audience is, currently at least, primarily made up of friends? I have the right to free speech, but so do the offenders. I would be opening up a forum for debate in a plce that I want to be a safe space for others to see my thoughts. The issues of abandonment, betrayal, and failure run deep into me and I can only write about them sparingly.
The world is becoming much less private. I see this, generally, as a good thing. Humans depend on each other. We are all connected, but with every decision comes a consequence. The ones that have wronged me will not be crucified by my pen and ink here. I cannot, however, defend anyone, but myself, from being attacked by another voice.
The lesson isn’t to be restrained with what you write, but to choose how important the people you write about will be to you.