A Social Media Recovery Story to RT

A Grimm Sherman Colins Disorder Fairy Tale

Last week, I read a devastating tweet.

One of my oldest friends and first Twitter followers revealed that she had developed Pinktwit, a chronic optical illusion for which there is no known cure.

As a result of now feeling like she had three eyeballs, her spiritual healer advised that she totally disengage from Twitter, or risk feeling permanently blind in three eyes.

I wanted to reach out and tell her that she was not alone. That I was suffering from chronic delusions.

But her Twitter account vanished.

My cat took one look at me and realized that I was experiencing an episode of Sherman Colins Disorder Change Shock.

She pounced on my mouse, but it was too late — I had already posted an abandoned hashtag: #savethepasttense

The Intervention

My feline begged me to seek help. I told her I was perfectly fine. She told me I wasn’t. Then, she reminded me of this challenge:

I had to admit, my cat had a point.

Four years ago, when I thought Twitter was just a word missing the letter “a,” I was happier.

And forty years before that, I was happier still, because I didn’t need a Facebook account to feel bullied.

So, I had to accept that I needed intensive in-patient social media addiction treatment. Fortunately, I was able to locate a facility nearby that was considered a model for progressive mental healthcare in the United States:

My cat locked down my laptop and iPad. And off I went with fresh undergarments and my iPhone (permitted for emergency Chinese food order texts only).

Emotional Health Rehab Night One

My first night in the “motel,” as the staff euphemistically referred to it, was very frightening:

I put down my book and was preparing to go to sleep when, out of nowhere, I was hit with an enlightening explosion:

Emotional Health Rehab Day One

After this horrific bedtime sleep routine disruption, I was convinced I’d have terrible insomnia. But lo and behold, I didn’t. I got in a good 6 to 7 hours — enough to figure out how to use the shower and speak coherently the following morning.

I wandered out of my room and was quickly ushered into a group therapy session led by one of the most compassionate nurse/prison guards I had ever encountered.

Listening to the serious issues raised in group, I realized that in comparison, my addiction was trivial (later realizing that I also needed treatment for comparing myself to others).

After the discussion, I took a stroll around the facility and discovered the setting quite invigorating.

Actually, it was my idea of paradise: skylights, free chocolate chip waffles, and a safe environment to talk to myself out loud without fear of being placed on an anti-psychotic.

Taking in my surroundings, I had an epiphany: I was in the midst of a Sherman Colins Disorder multi-media experience — so why not write this off as a business expense?

What a stroke of genius!

Before I knew it, the day was over. By Day 3, I already had an outline in my mind for a Sherman Colins Disorder Theme Park:

I felt so rejuvenated, I told my social media rehab manager that I believed I was strong enough to go home. She checked my insurance coverage and agreed.

The rest of the staff, each of whom had promised to follow me on Twitter, gave me a parting lunch bag of emotional swag:


I stepped outside feeling like my life was about to become a lot less complicated. Even my town seemed to have returned to a simpler time:

Soon, my cat arrived at patient pick-up to take me home.

When we were a few blocks away from our apartment building, I started to feel queasy. What if I were writing on Medium and suddenly had a strong impulse to tweet? How could I prevent relapse?

Fortunately, my feline had thought of everything. She told me she had made arrangements for mealtime sessions with a specialist in social media overeating addictions:

Further, she said, if I could stay clean until my next birthday, I would be rewarded with a yellow AA poker chip and a marvelously enriching gift card.

So touched was I by my cat’s selflessness, that I began to weep uncontrollably.

I brought a hand to my face to wipe away the tears.

Was that a third eye ball I felt developing on my forehead?