That Filter Got Broke

I've always bragged about my lack of the filter you're supposed to have between your brain and your mouth. I'm not sure if I simply wasn't born with it, or if it deteriorated over time. I have a feeling it is the latter because, once upon a time, I struck myself as quite reserved. In all honesty? I'd rather blame it on genetics. That's a much more convincing defense. But I'm feeling a little defensive, so, there's that.

Sometimes I fret about who reads this here blog. Not that much, obviously, because I share it willy nilly everywhere. I confess, though, that I hope in sharing it I can make tiny differences here and there. Make one other person feel less alone. One who was raped, or one who had an abortion, or one who struggled with infertility. I open my book to those who are alone. We're not alone. I will seek you out because I have so much regard for your ability to live in silence. It is me, contrary to popular belief, who is the weaker of us. I know I'm not alone because I've sought out companionship in the 'Shit Life Deals Club'. What's the point of carrying the card if you can't show it to anyone? But see, you're not card-carrying like that. I'm in awe, and maybe a little envious.

Admittedly, though, back to the subject of my 'All Told Blog', I worry about family. I mean, I've overcome any hesitation about making a gourmet meal out of my toes whilst gazing upon the soiled shirts and pants I've left out to air for god and everbody to see on the internets. But maybe the people who have the dubious honor of residing on a branch in my family tree wonder, well, maybe she does go out on a limb a little too often. Do I compromise the whole tree?

I'm not threatening to stop telling it all. Or promising, either. But I do wonder, sometimes, what the impact of my public honesty might be on those I hold dear to my heart. Who might be embarrassed? Who rolls their eyes? Who is glad, at least, that I'm not Snooki? Who would understand if I wasn't humiliating myself for free, but for fame and fortune?

The thing is, I'm just not wired for anonymity. I'm me. Uncensored. And as often as it bites me in the ass, it brings me closer to people. And that's worth the trouble. More than worth the trouble, actually. Because there is no trouble, that I know of anyway. It is the trouble there might be that I'm unaware of which haunts me a tad.

I concluded a long time ago that I don't have the discipline to be famous or fortunate. Or to write for money. I'm far more suited to being undisciplined and infamous and unfortunate. And laughing the whole way. I'd have less to write about otherwise. And less to be happy about, too, I'm pretty sure.

I just hope my filterlessness, undisciplined, infamous, and unfortunate ways leave the people I hold dear no worse for the wear is all. And others, maybe, better for it. Pipe dreams, here. Guilty as charged.