Who Needs It Anyway?!

Someone stole my identity. My sister asked me if I was in Portugal. I was confused. What are you talking about? We had lunch together yesterday. Apparently Facebook-me was in Portugal. Lucky her. Real-me isn't on Facebook. It's next to impossible to get off Facebook. If you're looking for immortality, create a Facebook account. In fact, my late husband, Dave, is still on Facebook. Neither of us can access our accounts to close them down.

Between Facebook and Tiktok, there are a handful of fake-mes. At first, I felt uncomfortable about it. What if fake-me is a bitch? What if people don't like her? What if people like her more than real-me? What if fake-mes are scamming lonely men out of cold, hard cash?!

Fake-mes and fake-yous abound, even if they aren't on Facebook. Every person we encounter creates a version of us in their mind - even if it's fleeting. Those versions are at best, incomplete, and at worst, wildly inaccurate. Even people closest to us don't know real-us. Sure, all of us strive to be authentic as fuck, but people are viewing us through their own unique lens, adding their own colour. And even with those closest to us, we don't share every thought or every moment. People combine incomplete parts with their own interpretation of those parts to form a unique and somewhat inaccurate version. Fake-uses abound. 

Thanks to Facebook-me, I thought more deeply about my relationship with all the fake-mes out there, the fake-mes on social media and the fake-mes living in the minds of others. I decided to live and let live. Since I can't control the wing-nuts who use my image on social media nor how people see me in their own minds, I'll simply take responsibility for real-me and wish the fake-mes all the best. Enjoy Portugal, Facebook-me!

P.S. If fake-Kelly DMs you asking for cash, just say no.