Last night there was a power blackout and I was glad. Part of this mental health experiment was removing myself from this constructed view of other people’s lives. I don’t know why social media makes me anxious. It makes me anxious in the same way as my former benzo addiction. It’s something that I know I can’t have cause then I’ll be 10 pills deep blacked out and the life of the party. And probably posting about it on some social media forum. What a cycle.
Assisted voyeurism- that’s what I think facebook and instagram promote. It’s a hollow experience. It’s something that simultaneously makes you feel lonely and out of yourself. Excellent sword, is that double edged?
Yesterday I sent a snap chat. It was my first taste of social media in 9 days (I’m not chasing bro)- it didn’t feel good. If you are doing a “it’s been X days since my last…” count, probably unhealthy behavior. Red flag!!! Red flag!!! It felt like opening a floodgate. Like if I didn’t have extreme discipline I’d be there just casually flicking through other people’s lives like I casually flick through TV channels.
I’m not going to get on my virtual soapbox on the evils of social media- results inconclusive. IDGAF what you do, I’m trying to figure out my shit and what I concluded was, no. Hard pass on all of it. I don’t want to be sucked into consuming other people’s lives. Even thinking about it makes me anxious. It’s like yesterday when I spoke about how writing this is a completely new ball game. Your facebook persona or your instagram persona can never be an authentic version of yourself because you alter yourself to be appropriate for your audience. That’s normal.
Example- you can’t post a picture of you in your best hoe outfit with whatever agenda you’re running (probs spite- always spite) if you also know your grandma’s going to see it. Well maybe other people have less conservative grandmothers. But I have to avoid shaming my family or inducing coronary arrest.
Maybe that’s why I find it so personally damaging- the lack of authenticity it encourages within me, the encouraging of censorship. I cant do shit like this if I’m afraid to talk. Brutal honesty is what people like, looking at someone more insane than you so you feel regular. I am re-navigating what it means to be the authentic version of myself (can I get a self help book here?) much like Stella trying to find her awful groove (or a movie about a divorcee trying to find herself. I am so basic). Is that why I ran away? So I could come back unapologetic? Fuck me! Really! I am saving thousands on therapy. Who said chillin while mentally illin wasn’t real. Very good! Very good!
xx SJ