Why I Left Facebook

2013 — Part 5

So this post has been a long time coming. Like most life-decisions, this one took not just courage, but time to sink in before I could look back with enough grounded wisdom and emotional distance to talk about it.

Some of you might have been there at the Great Facebook Fallout of 2013. It wasn’t pretty. I was going through a pretty rough time over a family memorial and as usual, I turned to my “friends” for support. And why not? I had been doing that for 6 years. When the support didn’t come — I became emotional. Angry. Self-righteous. I deserved sympathy. I deserved support. A few people hit back defensively and before I knew it, I had involved everyone in a finger-pointing, he said-she said brawl. My grief added fuel to the fire and my insecurity also stood by, fanning the flames.

I threw my hands in the air and walked away.

I must have cried for days. Weeks. I lost count. I felt so ridiculously alone. Aided by the memories of loneliness as a child, I formulated theories…

“The Aspergers isn’t helping, of course. I’ve always found it hard to make friends.”

“Maybe this is just it. Maybe we do form friendship patterns in school. If you miss that boat — forget it. You’re doomed.”

“I belong on a different planet. Clearly.”

“I’m just not friendship material. “

…and made plans to become a hermit.

It was then that I listened to a blogcast from Danielle LaPorte, James Altucher and Justine Musk about developing charisma. James talked about how if he walks into a party where no-one likes him, well…he’ll simply find another party to go to.

“Easy for you to say” I said. “You obviously get invited to a lot of parties.”

He then went on to describe Facebook as a “joykiller”. I stopped everything — EVERYTHING — I was doing, and sat bolt upright.

Facebook has the enormous capacity to be a big ol’ black hole of neverending drama. It’s polarizing. We have a tendency to put all of our eggs in the Facebook basket — and those of us who have little contact with the outside world (for no other reason than we work from home, or we’re sick, or we’re out of a job — whatever) — it’s very easy to become demanding of your virtual friends list to fill the void.

I considered this for a second. For the most part, I considered myself a fairly responsible Facebook user. I avoided vague-booking (well mostly), I tried not spam everyone with my drama on a daily basis. So when things were going wrong in my life and I needed support — I felt entitled to do so.

The problem with this method is that it’s like trying to call a friend, only to pour your problems out on their answering machine. Not everyone is online when you have an emotional crisis. And the longer it takes for them to reply, the quicker your feelings of abandonment kick in.

Frankly too — sometimes your friend is purposefully not picking up the phone. They may not know what to say. They may need to collect their thoughts before they can formulate a supportive response. Or maybe they’re dealing with demons of their own. Or — and this was the part of the podcast that really made me think — maybe they’re having a good day. And maybe they don’t particularly feel like having that interrupted by Facebook drama.

I thought back to my own experiences. Of feeling really GREAT…only to log onto Facebook and to have that bubble popped by the neverending stream of negativity and passive-aggressiveness on my news feed.

Or — and this was the hardest pill to swallow — maybe they just don’t want to be there for you in that way. We have a tendency to over-add people to our friends list. People we’ve met at parties. People we’ve met in passing. Friends of friends. Acquaintances from school. Some who used to be friends but who have moved in different directions. I realised very swiftly that I had very few “true” friends on that list (and that’s an understatement). I was essentially expecting a bunch of near-strangers and voiceless faces, business associates and acquaintances to make me feel better.

How supremely unfair is it to expect this growing list of hapless people (whose only crime is having a Facebook account) to be your emotional crutch?

I deactivated my account.

And it was liberating.

It was time to move into a different direction. I settled in for a long walk along a long lonely road. Taking a deep breath, I listened to the sound of stillness around me. No neverending stream of chatter, cluttering up my consciousness.

I never ever wanted to go back.

So I didn’t.