For a given value of “afraid”, there isn’t much.

Tbh, there isn’t anything, but there are a few where I avoid the subject in real life because it’s never as fast as online.

I mention depression online, and there’s support comments for sure, as well an occasional asshole.

Irl, that’s one of those conversation stoppers, no matter how casual you are about it.

And that’s the kind of thing I’m talking about. Stuff that I’m fine discussing with friends and family when it comes up. I’m even fine with discussing it with strangers, if the goal is supporting them and maybe making them feel less alone.

But there’s a whole range of subjects where if you volunteer information, it turns any interaction into being about that. Another big one is the job I had when I was still able to work. Did grunt level medical work as a nurse’s assistant. Mostly did geriatrics and hospice. So, pretty focused on end of life care, with just enough of the other stuff to keep me sane.

Online? I can drop that paragraph, and it doesn’t derail anything because if someone is interested, it creates a new thread. It spins off without disrupting the central conversation. Irl, nobody likes being reminded of death, for one thing. Then there’s always, always folks that mean well but make a bigger deal out of it than the circumstances usually call for. Like, it’s small talk about “oh, I was in car sales, what did you do?”

“I was an NA.”

“Really?! What kind of work?”

“Death work, motherfucker.”

And you might as well say it like that because if you mention hospice at all, the room goes still. And the alternative to that is either leaving it out, which I don’t like doing because it feels dishonest to just specify geriatrics as though it’s a different thing at the end; or, you give some vague shit, which feels dishonest to myself. Like, I carry that shit. I don’t expect or want praise, or morbid nosiness, or even the all-too-common “you were doing god’s work”. But I own that shit. I carry the weight of it, the grief and the physical pain from doing it. So dismissing what it was ain’t happening either.

So, I usually just ask questions and listen instead. That’s what most small talk is about.

But online, I’ll obviously lay that shit out because it won’t fuck up the vibe of the entire room or fuck up my vibe.

So, it isn’t fear, as in I worry about how other people will react. I’m a giant asshole, IDGAF about others’ opinions of me. I’m middle aged, crippled, and beholden to no one, I don’t have to worry about other people’s goodwill. Not that I cared much even when I could still work. If you knew how many times I had a supervisor ask something along the lines of “why did you say that to a patient’s family member?” With my response being “they asked”, it would be hilarious.

Which, that was usually followed up with “couldn’t you just not say anything, or just lie?” With my response being “no, no I couldn’t. I don’t lie if I can avoid it, and never when on the job with dying people. And you don’t violate the trust of a dying human being by bullshitting.”

That’s why I was fucking excellent at the job, btw. It wasn’t the bathing and mobility support and such. It was being present. You do the job you take care of their needs. But you do not treat them like a patient in their own home. Shit, you don’t do it in a facility either. You treat them like one human being to another. That’s what it’s about.

Also, did I mention I still carry the weight of it? Yeah. That’s the stuff I let out online or with my “inner circle”, and never, ever with anyone else because that’s what’s bubbling underneath.