Everyone should have a private Twitter account
Last year I set up a private Twitter account. No one follows me on it. I never promoted it and outside of a few casual mentions in conversations with closer friends, I never really brought it up. My public Twitter account, the one associated with this blog, is less of a diary and more like a manuscript. I choose what people see when I type something and send it into the world. I’m very aware of the persona I’m playing, the brand I’m keeping. My public account is a way to sell my writing — and myself— to those interested, but I never treated it like a diary.
That’s what my private Twitter account became. That’s the entire reason I started it. Some may be asking why I didn’t just keep a physical diary or subscribe to the hundreds of websites and apps built for this exact purpose. I tried. I’ve tried most of them. I kept hoping I’d find an app that would cater to me in my most depressive periods. The reason those apps don’t work for me, I’m almost certain, is my inability to not overwrite. If I see a blank page, I have to fill it. I can’t just write one sentence. Believe me, I have tried.
When my therapist suggested keeping a diary to track my moods and what set me off, I did. I put in the effort and kept it going for almost a month — a long period by my standards. But inevitably I would grow bored with writing daily about things that seemed inconsequential to me, like trying to be happy, so I stopped. Like almost everything else in my life, it lay half done and recklessly abandoned.
This created a conundrum, though. I’m someone who likes to share…and overshare. If you follow me on Twitter, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I tweet about subjects that others choose to keep at bay (I strongly believe that the only way to get rid of the stigma surrounding mental health is to talk about it). I tweet too often. I, like many of the people I follow, go directly from forming a thought to hitting the send button on Tweetdeck without a second to think about whether or not that could be interpreted as inappropriate. My Twitter account, like so many of you reading this, became a slightly exaggerated, far more confident, funnier version of me. And I love it so much because of that.
But there’s a part of me that wants to shout into the wind and not have anyone respond. I’ve built an intimate connection with Twitter, and not just the people who follow me. The actual process of condensing a thought into 140 characters and sending that into the ethereal online has become an addiction. I go to bed while on Twitter and wake up to Twitter. I want to be able to share some of the most personal, often times questionable moments of my life on Twitter but I can’t. I am very fortunate to be working with the publication of my dreams and that comes with some level of professionalism online. Although I can be myself and never feel like I have to hide anything, I want to be a representative of the site on Twitter. Part of getting the cool job you always dreamed of means acting, well, semi-professional.
Around the time that I had this realization, private Twitter accounts were becoming a thing. Friends were setting them up as a way to open up about their sexuality to those they wanted to without it being public knowledge. Others wanted to rant about their day-to-day lives: boyfriends/girlfriends, jobs, and family. Others just wanted a place where they could talk about their sexual lifestyle or mental health issues without feeling like they were being judged by others. Private Twitter accounts quickly became synonymous with the Facebook of 2007, before everyone started accepting friend requests from Joe Schmoe and using Facebook to complain about the people they have on Facebook. Private Twitter accounts, which rarely crack 30 or 40 followers, were messages intended for the people those users felt okay with sharing their life with.
Kev Bobbitt, host of the Shonen Trash podcast and friend on Twitter, told me that it was a way for him to celebrate his sexuality before he was out to his family.
“My first one was about me being closeted with my sexuality and I closed it down after I came out,” Bobbitt said. “The one I have now is a lot of venting.”
Neil Adavies, another friend on Twitter and writer for CC2K, said that, like me, it came down to professional reasons.
“I made one to make jokes about my VERY strict college that would monitor my tweets and confront me about them,” Adavies said.
The reasons for why they set up their private accounts were endless, but the theme was always the same: they wanted to talk about something they couldn’t publicly. Twitter has always been a public service, but in the past few years, users have been treating their accounts like they’re private even though they’re not. We’ve all heard horror stories about people who make a joke or tweet something inappropriate that ends with a loss of job or being ostracized. We act offended when our tweets are taken out of context, but we need to remember that Twitter is public, which means we are all public figures. It is both the best and worst part about being on the platform.
I began following a few friends’ private Twitter accounts and, although I greatly enjoyed getting to learn more about them, I was jealous of the freedom they had. I wanted to do something similar, but a large part of my depression that I contend with on a daily basis is paranoia-based. I’m paranoid my friends don’t actually like me. I work under the daily paranoia that I will be fired. I’m paranoid that my partner will find out how bad I am at being in a relationship. So while I was infatuated with the idea of setting up a private Twitter account, I was still paranoid it would lead to nothing but trouble.
And then it hit me. I could set up a private Twitter account with a one-time use email and just not share it. I realized I was more attracted to the idea of tweeting than I was to interacting with people — something I’m sure should be talked about in a therapy session. I just wanted to tweet my frustrations or concerns the moment they hit me without the fear of public repercussion.
So I did. I set up a private Twitter account a little over eight months ago and it’s been great. It has become my go to place to shout about everything and anything bothering me. The egg that exists as my profile picture and the “zero following, zero followers” count that sits just below it helps to alleviate the anxiety. The fact that it’s nearly impossible to find with a search is an added benefit.
Why am I writing about this today? Because I think there are a lot of people who can benefit from it, but may not have thought to start a second account. Unlike managing a public profile, there are almost no setbacks to a private. You’re not managing it, you’re just using it. You’re not promoting a brand, but you’re keeping yourself sane during a period of history when that’s getting more difficult each day. Private Twitter accounts have become the diary I’ve been looking for; void of expectations for lengthy entries and available 24/7 through an app I already use daily.
More to the point, I am someone that uses it when I’m depressed and not looking for sympathy. When I just want to talk about how sad I am without people asking if I’m okay or sending their love. I just want a space to talk about stupid brain things and get it out there. Even privately, Twitter may not be the best place to do that, but it’s the only thing that keeps me sane. That’s a problem, but one I’ll get to a little later.
I’m not going to end this with a public declaration of my private account and tell people to follow me. But as our lives become more public every single day and the world seems to get a little scarier and more chaotic right alongside it, having a space to exist online that is entirely your own has its benefits. Having a place to exist online in pure solitude, the sound and distractions from the world nonexistent…quite frankly, that’s worth more than I could ever express.
