A strange 72 hours.
Strange on Twitter. Real life has been, well, normal.
More fighting. More arguing on social media. More side taking, trolling and general unpleasantness.
I’ve had to bite my tongue and stop my twitchy fingers from tweeting stuff I’ll later regret. I’ve had to step back and just let the anxiety wash over me and through me. I’ve tried to remain detached but it’s been so damn hard.
I can see where the fault lies. I’d love to say “But…” or “In my opinion…” but nobody would listen; they’re too far gone for that. I know I’d just be inviting trouble.
So I’ve had to block people. I’ve had to block people I like, at least in the Twitter sense of the word. It’s not as though they’ve done anything wrong but they’ve opened me up to the possibility of harassment if I say anything and, having experienced that once, it’s not something I’m prepared to let happen again.
I can’t tell them who to follow, to unfollow, mute or block. At times I wish I could because it would make my life a little less stressful but I’m not their keeper and it’s a free world so they can follow whomever they like.
Perhaps they don’t know about the numerous name changes, the times that Twitter has had to remove accounts, the reporting, the trolling and the sheer nastiness that certain people have perpetuated on not just me but others as well.
Or perhaps they don’t care.
I’d hope it’s the former.
I’ve taken myself out of the firing line, at least for now. At least until a new account surfaces and the cycle repeats itself.
I’ve blocked people by association and I didn’t want to do that.
But the risk is too severe. I don’t want another episode of anxiety, stress, meltdowns and outright panic at the thought these people might attack me again. I just can’t risk it.
So, if I’ve blocked you then I am sorry. I truly am. You’ll never know but I do mean it.
But, for my own safety, it’s necessary.