I have loved being an anonymous blogger. It has meant that I have been able to talk about my children, my love life, my ex husband, my work...all absolutely freely, without bars or limits or censorship. I have written one or two posts which I know may be considered mildly offensive, but I don't write them to be offensive - it's just the way that the words form themselves in my brain, and drip out of my fingers, a bit swearily, onto the page.
I generally write because I feel I have something quite important, or vaguely amusing, or perhaps even a bit irritating on my mind. Nothing more than that.
But trouble is coming. I have stumped up a relationship with a fellow Twitter user (let's call him Bellend) and worse: he has seen me without a bag over my head. He knows my real name. He even (shudder) knows where I live.
And this immediately changes things.
Recently I wrote about some issues we'd had with a condom. I didn't write it to show off that we'd been having sex (honestly! Oh maybe a little bit...); much more about how stupid I felt and how horrible it was to go shopping for the morning after pill. When you're middle aged. And should know better, perhaps.
But because I wasn't quite anonymous anymore, someone who knew my partner contacted me on Twitter to rant at me. Someone I didn't know from Adam - which was pretty horrible, out of the blue, and because my skin is so thin, it hit me like a train.
A couple of people on Twitter have unfollowed because...actually, I'm not entirely sure why, because since they've unfollowed, their DM has disappeared... but I think it's because Bellend and I have been very (too?) open about our relationship. I find this odd. I mean, if they were our friends in real life, would they withdraw if they found out that we'd fallen in love? I doubt it. They'd probably invite us in for a glass of red and a celebratory olive or two.
I understand that the weird transparency of our relationship doesn't sit particularly well with my (at least part) anonymity. It probably feels like I'm either sharing way too much, or bizarrely too little. It doesn't sit right with me, and puts me in a bit of a pickle: do I 'come out', guns blazing, and share all, Katie Hopkins-stylee? Or do I drop back into the shady depths of relative anonymity and, for example, refuse to meet the new in-laws - or only meet them whilst wearing a sombrero and a heavy, woollen scarf covering my face?
Tiny bit odd?
I'm not ready to bare all just yet. I'm enjoying hiding under a blanket, thanks very much. So I'll just carry on in the half light. Until my cover's blown.