I am fully aware my recent, introspective blogging has raised eyebrows, made peo

ple feel uncomfortable and that many think I am nothing but a drama queen. I do
nâ t care.
I find that in-world I am frequently breaking the last taboo. I freely admit th
at it is not possible to separate Second Life from Real Life unless you are an e
motional cripple and that unnerves people. I must be sad in RL right? Well, as
pects of my RL are bullshit that is true. There is nothing like being a Bipolar
Dyslexic with autism to make you want to sing songs of praise every morning on
waking â ¦ not. I donâ t rise at 6am with the larks every day. I wish those birds would
hut the fuck up to be honest. Dawn choruses give me a headache. I rise from my
rats nest after hitting snooze on the alarm clock five times and not getting to
bed until well past the witching hour. In RL I have a Philosophy degree, work
full time for the government where people cry on me all day everyday. They tell
me every detail of their miserable lives, from their most recent suicide attemp
t to domestic violence. Usually though, as September draws close I am thinking
of the children. The 7-year olds I take two days a term off RL work to spend ti
me with. We go on walks and talk to improve their English. When I am not on Se
cond Life I spend evenings and pre-work 8.15am meetings discussing the strategy
of educating children.
Every month I tell myself I will take up martial arts (my ex was a Karate Black
Belt and I fantasise about kicking his arse) but I never have the spare cash. M
aybe twice a month you can find me playing chicken running across the road oppos
ite my dreary office block rushing to get to my lunchtime buddhist meditation wi
th one of the girls from reception. I live alone, about 45 minutes drive from a
ny family and two train rides from my next of kin. I never went to school here.
I found a job here after my first redundancy working for the police and made f
riends. I met a man. Friends came and went and the man turned out to be a psyc
hopath but I was here, so I stayed. I had nowhere else to go. The psychopathic
ex lives about a 15 minute bus ride away with his second wife and three childre
n in the posh part of town. My legal fees on my current home (conveniently loca
ted near to the male bail hostel and close to the day drug rehabilitiation centr
e) were paid for by my dying Aunt. Shortly after that I logged on to Second Lif
e for the first time.
The truth of my RL is that without a filofax and a handbag overflowing with crap
I never actually look at it is not possible for me to navigate my day without d
isaster. Once I got to work and realised I had put the television remote contro
l in my handbag instead of my mobile phone. I lose my mobile phone so often I h
ave the number on speedial. I enter the door code to the office toilets into my
apartment block security system most days. My family think I spread myself too
thin but I donâ t think I am without time. I have not ironed a single item of cloth
ing since 2007 (thatâ s what god invented tumble dryers for) and open my mail once a
week (if it is urgent they can ring me). So, thatâ s my RL. No man there? A few ha
ve tried, all have failed.
So, why did I choose to be so sad in Second Life this week? I let my guard down
and trusted someone who did not deserve that trust. Dealing with disappointmen
t is universal, there is no distinction between first and second life. The only
real difference is if you feel sad in Second Life it makes people feel uncomfor
table and there is an expectation you will just mute them and move on. There ar
e obvious advantages to that method but it is just practising avoidance. To rea
lly move on you need to own up to the fact you momentarily felt like shit and th
at you will never trust another living soul in Second Life again.
And, that is exactly what I did.