Watch Where You Blog

Growing up, I always kept diaries mostly used to confess feelings of true love for boys I rarely, if ever, spoke to. Problem was, no matter how hard I tried, I never found a hiding spot left unturned by my weasel of a brother.

In sixth grade, I had a crush on this boy, Shane. I'm sure I had some story about how his hand grazed mine as he went to pick up the pencil he dropped on the floor in seventh period or something equally dramatic that my brother was just dying to read about. One afternoon, my mom called me and my brothers out to the living room and told us she was considering having another child. It wasn't until the end when she asked what I thought of the name 'Shane' for a boy that I was clued in to what was really going on.

Not only had my brother invaded my privacy (not the first time), but he'd gone ahead and told my mom who just laughed it off as some big joke. I played it off like it was no big deal but the fact he knew every personal feeling and emotion I'd experienced over the last six months was mortifiying and infuriating. I took all my diaries (save one or two) and pitched them -- an act I knew I'd regret at the time and still do.

So why do I blog? Good question. It's a love/hate relationship. I get a high from the release, each time I post anything remotely personal, but doubt and humiliation are just around the corner. I refuse to go back and re-read old posts. Did I seriously just publish that for the whole world to read when half a liter of vodka wouldn't be enough for me to say that to the person's face? I worry over whether someone I know will find this blog or the link will get passed along to unwelcome visitors. Yet I can't stop.