First, to give credit where credit is due, that title is not attributable to “Anonymous” by any stretch of the imagination. It is in fact one of my favorite songs, sung by Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes in the early 1970’s, and, to make the crediting complete, written by Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff.
The title does, in a silly kind of way, lead into this discussion of why I’m choosing to keep who I really am in the shadows, at least for a while. The first reason is a serious one – I need this blog as an outlet for talking about my cancer experience, and even sometime I may need to talk about dying. Whether anyone else reads this or not, I’m just not sure I want my family, especially my children, to be privy to it right now. I know there probably will come a time when it will be necessary to have more of these discussions with them – or maybe a miracle will come along and make all this irrelevant!
The other reason has to do with the fangirling part of the blog, and my timidity too, I suppose. One thing that keeps me from becoming totally public, especially with family and friends, about the extent of this celebrity crushiness: Doesn’t it seem slightly pathological (i.e., “caused by or evidencing a mentally disturbed condition”) for a woman of my age to be so enamored of a man many years my junior? I think I’d be kind of grossed out if the roles were reversed. (Needs some explanation, that. I mean if a much older undefined man -not RA in particular- were obsessing about me.) So still shaky on the age thing, but trying to let go of that.
Let me add here that I am a happily married woman with adult children, and never have I fantasized my husband being someone else, as in the bedroom. I rather imagine that what most of these guys turn into in my fantasies is some version of him, just with a different physical appearance and maybe minor variations to keep it interesting. What has helped me “come out” has been the very frank and accepting discussions I’ve read by other Armitage supporters. As I mentioned on the Aurora’s Prince page, this has been a part of my life since childhood. Whatever deep-seated emotional insecurity it may reflect, I really don’t care. One thing that seems to come with being older, for some reason, and with having a chronic, incurable disease, is a growing disregard for what other people think. Jeez, what are they going to do to me? What is that saying – “They can kill you, but they can’t eat you.” Anyone remember where that’s from?
I must say that as I add more posts, I suppose much of the veneer of anonymity will melt away. And if my family made any attempt whatsoever to locate a blog of mine, well, let’s just say it would take my daughter two or three quick looks through the pages as written now to figure me out; the sons maybe a bit longer. Husband, thankfully I guess, hasn’t gotten into reading blogs at all.
Thinking back about all this, it seems hypocritical, doesn’t it? So, I want to finally be able to express who I am and what I think, just as long as no one I know can read it. Or does everyone deserve to have little kernel of themselves that they can show to whomever they please, or no one? Reminds me a bit of people who become a fictional character online – something that has always seemed frightening/irritating to me. As long as that kernel is part of your “truth”… I think I’m tired of trying to pick this thing apart. At least for now, I reserve the right to take baby steps in opening up these shadowy or previously unrevealed parts of me. Thanks for listening…