Why I decided to cut back on social media (and why I’ve failed)
It’s time to take back our digital identities.
I decided I needed time away from social media after a pretty rough 11 months.
A multitude of setbacks left me clawing at the inside of my skull and a fearful desperation had taken hold, etching criss-crossed fingernail trails on the bone’s surface.
As blurry days tick-tocked into one, I slowly stumbled into familiar territory not traversed for years. I’d allowed neurotic, skittering thoughts to consume me. Worse still, I’d grown utterly desensitized to the ruckus and commotion they were wrecking.
Then I reached the realization that my life was stuck in an endless scroll.
All of a sudden, I found myself absorbed in a maddeningly monotonous swipe and flick session, which had bled outwards from the palm of my hand into all other areas of my life. The steady rhythm and flow of a conditioned, Facebook-fueled apathy had set in and its relentless buzz was drowning out my awareness, always present beneath the surface of my everyday gaze.
I wasn’t achieving anything. My energy and enthusiasm had dissipated. All existence had turned into some kind of ongoing self-pitying wallowfest. Nothing was bright anymore, yet at the same time, household objects began to twinkle with a faint, dull gleam.
On the day I walked out of the 48th Street subway station just five minutes after entering, trembling the entire return journey home, I knew something had to change.
Making the Decision
The problem, however, was… What? When your whole house appears to be on fire, which room do you toss a bucket of water on first? Watching on, numbly, as everything around me disintegrated, very little seemed within my control.
This is what depression does to you. It takes away your power.
As the grime builds in every corner of your mind, gradually, it begins to consume all memory of you ever being powerful. It’s a condition that only worsens once you receive a diagnosis.
Not that I’d received a recent diagnosis at this point in time, though. Living abroad and being the poorest I’d ever been in my life, a therapist was a prescription I didn’t have access to this time around. (Like I mentioned — not much was working out). Regardless, I didn’t need a diagnosis. I knew the signs well.
Eventually, I decided my participation on social media was at least one thing within my control. It seemed like one of the more manageable aspects of my life I felt I could take responsibility for.
With this newfound clarity, I began to untangle myself from the mindless habits I’d developed. I deleted the Facebook app from my phone. I did the same with my Instagram and Snapchat. I left Messenger notifications on, however, as this was the only means I had of communicating with most of my friends and family.
Many will snigger at these pitiful attempts. They might say that a clean break from all platforms is the only a proper solution. Deletion. These people are probably correct.
Kicking the Habit… Just as Hard as You’d Think
However, while I’d contemplated this option, it also seemed an impossible one to take. My Facebook profile was now a decade old. For more than a third of my life, I’d unconsciously fed and nurtured a little digital avatar of myself — a carefully curated mini-me with a lower-case “f” branded right on its ass. To tap him into oblivion seemed callous, unnecessary and an act of violence. Whether I liked it or not, my social media profiles represented a record of my life. I refused to erase them. To do so would be like backspacing on my sense of self. I was surprised at how murderous such a notion felt.
There’s been lots of commentary on how the identity-distorting tendencies of social media use are eroding our lives. As we become overwhelmingly swept up in the meticulously manicured virtual lives of others, the more damaging the effects on our mental health. In comparing our progress with past acquaintances and old school buddies in the online realm, it’s easy to become irrational and panicked about our seemingly malnourished attempt at adulthood.
This definitely played a part in my decision to distance myself. But truthfully… I was mostly sick of the banality of what social media, in its current form, insists on shoving down our throats.
As I scrolled, and liked, and waved, and poked, and scrolled, and favorited, and snapped, and scrolled, and stalked, and scrolled, and scrolled, the resulting dopamine kicks kept me hungry for the endless feed. At some point, I understood I was getting very little else from the process. In short, I was addicted and blissfully unaware.
Each time I caught myself 20-minutes into to a screen-thumbing suckhole, it became clearer just how much social media was contributing to my depressive state. All that precious time I wasted on a newsfeed helped create a blueprint for the stagnation that eventually grew roots and strangled my daily routine.
Ultimately, this is Facebook’s greatest triumph. In 15 short years, Zuckerberg has turned us all into a snowballing herd of walking corpses, each adorned with fancy gadgets and designer labels — mere byproducts of the squillions he’s made from data-mining and targeted advertising.
Social media is the crack of consumerism. The companies we sign our lives over to so willingly are the new drug kingpins of the 21st century.
The Aftermath
My plan didn’t demand a total ban. I think this is an important distinction to make for others who might be considering something similar. I don’t really see the need to torture ourselves with the painful tribulations of “going cold turkey.” I believe very little in our lives requires an all-or-nothing approach.
Eight months of this have passed so far. I’ve left a comment here and there. A thank you to friends earlier this year for an elaborate birthday surprise. The occasional drop-in to see how things are going. There have been regrettable instances when fits of social anxiety got the better of me, forcing the phone to come out in the corner of a crowded room as an excuse to avert eye contact. But generally, I’d say my usage dropped by at least 90%. Way less scrolling and next to zero posting.
During this time, my depression has ebbed and flowed, dwindling for extended periods and then viciously assailing me when I least expect. Interestingly, I’ve rediscovered time for self-reflection — one of the first things I jettisoned as my usage grew out of hand. This has allowed me to work on my mental health in a more productive manner than I’d experienced previously.
Outside of that, I’ve managed to achieve some big life edits, including a complete change of diet and multiple changes of scenery. I’ve lived in two other countries since cutting down, with plans to explore many more before this year comes to a close. I’ve cut thousands worth of credit card debt down to zero, my overall outlook is lifting and, most importantly, opportunities are coming into focus once again, having been ignored for far too long. For the first time in my life, I feel as if I’m creating my own choices. I’ve also started writing.
Am I saying that this has all happened because I turned away from social media? Not at all. So many other factors and people have been integral to my progress. However, when I ask myself whether any of this would have been possible if I’d stayed intravenously tethered to the feeds… I’m not so sure of the answer.
It’s also not been easy. Because social media has been my only link to friends and family while abroad, detaching from the apps has been detrimental to relationships. In the midst of my newfound sense of freedom, message notifications often feel like unwelcome pin pricks in my fragile bubble of privacy. Having lived exposed in the social mediasphere for so long, I’m getting to the point where so much of me just wants to be left the fuck alone. Ten years in with little reprieve from the screen, my insecurities have amplified and I’ve become plain inconsiderate toward the people I care for most. Thinking of the backlog of replies I need to get to feeds a constant guilt and makes my heart heavy.
But social media doesn’t have to be like this.
Let’s Write a Different Future
At the heart of it, Facebook started out as a place for each of us to tell our story. Somewhere we can offer a pure, unfiltered portrayal of our own lives. A domain that offers creative sovereignty, literally streamed from our fingertips and beamed to the entire world in an instant.
This is also what I think the future of social media could look like… But only if we reclaim it. Only if we want it.
More and more in recent weeks, I’ve found myself wanting it. I miss allowing myself the opportunity to tell my own story. As I claw my way out of the darkness, I find myself with a yawning desire to share my experience and connect with others who are surely going through something similar. I want to inspire and be inspired. This was the promise we were sold, way back when we first agreed to the terms. Before we were all collectively hijacked and re-engineered as a vessel for maniacal corporate gluttony.
Eight months into my self-imposed estrangement from social media, I feel a strong urge to return. But this time, with a conscious, guiding hand. I’m done with letting myself be enslaved by these platforms. Instead, I want to use them as tools to craft my tale. They hold such potential as a canvas to paint our existence any shade we choose, irrespective of what others think. I’m a firm believer that achieving this kind of widespread creative liberation can only mean good things for mental health in our modern western world.
To me, this is a much more constructive way to look at the role social media has to play in years to come.
Each of us needs to re-imagine what’s possible in our digital lives. This is how we take back ownership of our stories, even as the impenetrable internet giants continue to suck us dry of juicy, personal details and surveil and sell our online activity. Because, let’s be realistic — data mining is here to stay and it’s likely most of us will never part with our digital identities. We might as well do as best we can with the shitty set of circumstances we find ourselves in, and through our actions, demand something superior.
Undeniably, our profiles are a massive part of who we are. We don’t need to abandon them entirely to be free. We just have to take back ownership of them.
Perhaps a little break from the madness is all we need to get ourselves back on track.
