This is some scary George Orwell kind of stuff:
When I first read the article I nearly screamed. What a violation!
All of my editing, keystrokes, comments, private messages I choose not to send are being retained anyway?
As a fledgling writer I often type, delete, re-type, edit my thoughts as I put them down on paper.
As a hot-headed, opinionated person, I way too often fly off the handle and then backspace, backspace, backspace until I can write an ‘acceptable’ reply/comment/message.
It turns out ALL of those keystrokes are not necessarily unread. I am still more than a little freaked out about it.
But then, the Pollyanna in me rises up once again.
It turns out someone has had the opportunity to read all of those items I deemed not Facebook worthy.
I wrote and re-wrote several multiple paragraph comments when a friend’s husband died. I ended up deleting them all and was left with a simple, pathetic “I am so sorry. *hugs*.” It was too heart wrenching to put all of those previous edits out into Facebookland, but it was cathartic to get the feelings out.
Often I respond to political posts that I think about sharing, commenting on, standing on a soap box for… and then I think that is just isn’t worth it. After all, my friends that agree with my perspective already agree. Those that don’t will just be offended. They won’t read/learn/change their minds. Backspace, backspace, backspace.
Facebook friends who have been inappropriate to me… if they read my first drafts would no longer be friends of any type. Backspace, backspace, backspace. Until cooler heads prevail or sometimes no response ever, just leaving the offense lay out there like a dog on a hot summer day.
Backspace, backspace, backspace. It has saved me friendships, connections, relationships. And now it isn’t real. Those thoughts still exist, somewhere.
It is like having your inner thoughts still alive, out there for someone, someone unknown to me, to see.
To be honest, it still gives me the heebie-jeebies, but it also feels a little bit good. Those thoughts were real, sincere and part of me. They didn’t die with backspace. I may not even remember them now, because I was able to let them go with backspace, backspace, backspace. Pollyanna, maybe. But for me it feels better than wasting my time shaking my fist at the storm clouds.
I won’t quit using Facebook, even in light of this revelation, but I will be more cautious in how I use it… because backspace, backspace, backspace will be left for other places… even after a glass of wine (or two).