Social Media Rock Bottom
You would think that in the vast, vacuous space of the internet that you could never hit bottom.
I’m fairly sure I found it.
The signs of a downward spiral appeared more frequently. Little whispers in my head, “stop this, get off, go do something else, there’s so much more to do” turned to shouts. If anyone in my life pointed out the problem I’d either respond by withdrawing, making justifications, or lashing out. I had these moments of relief when I could open my app of choice; relief almost immediately lapsed into shame. …
again, rubbed smooth
two moments to begin
It is 1997 and I am in a car leaving Beirut International Airport, going northeast into the mountains. In my mindscape the city has not yet been rebuilt — looking at the buildings flashing by I could see great holes where walls should have been. Sheets were hung in the gaps, serving as fluid, billowing membranes in place of concrete. If the wind blew just enough, a brief glimpse of someone’s interior life would come into view, then, again return to being veiled from the outsider’s gaze. As a child these damage marks…
Pale shiny figure — slightly abstracted by distance — consumed my thoughts. It hung higher than the three framed portraits on the mantle — phantasms of my bloodline. I entertained the thought that this figure was also part of my lineage — else why was he up on the fireplace with the rest of the family members, whom I knew only by their shadows.
“Mom, can you show me what that is?” I asked in the most angelic voice I could conjure. She hesitated. “What do you want to see?” I pointed up toward the thing I could not name…
When the revolution in Lebanon began October 17th, I was met with feelings of immense pride, joy, and hope for the people I know and love there. Filled with euphoria for an evolving humanity.
That positivity was soon overwhelmed by an incapacitating sense of sadness, numb, hate, and depression.
I was angry with myself for not being there.
I was angry that I felt as though I “copped out”.
I was angry that, even if I was there, my presence wouldn’t have any effect.
I was angry and jealous that people who have “no connection” to Lebanon “got to be…
Noëlle Millicent. Just another person.