I’ve always been an Internet stalker.

I remember my first time — I clicked through a Facebook album again and again because it included two pictures of my crush. His Jesuit all boys high school had gone on a retreat to pray in the woods or something. This was before “likes,” so I didn’t have to worry about the mortification of an accidental thumb slip. I thought I was somehow gleaning information about him that would be useful next time I interacted with him at a debate tournament. Sadly, I never worked up the courage to talk to him about anything other than whether or not the Federal Reserve should raise interest rates (I was an obnoxious high schooler, and then I transitioned seamlessly into being an obnoxious adult).

Over the years, I kept up with my Internet stalking. I’d routinely look through all of someone’s Facebook photos after making out with them once at a crowded frat party. The minutes I’d spend stalking them far outnumbered the minutes I’d spend with my tongue down their throat, especially because I allegedly “kiss like a fish” and “don’t use enough tongue.” In college I once decided I’d kill time in between the end of a one night stand and brunch by sitting in the common room of the boy’s dorm and reading all his tweets. My most maddening sexual tryst I had in my early 20s was with a boy who didn’t have a Facebook- how was I supposed to learn about him? What would I do while waiting for him to text me back!? Our relationship ended quickly, which I blame on me not knowing enough about his online presence. Also, he hated me, but that was secondary. I once told a friend I knew I wasn’t into a guy because I had no desire to look at his ex’s Facebook, and I stand by this assessment. If you care about someone, you will want to know what his or her ex looks like. I’m not being crazy. This is normal. You’re the weird one.

I never felt like my Internet stalking was anything out of the ordinary, but I recently had an experience that proved otherwise. To call it “Facebook stalking” would not do justice to my actions — I stalked him over the whole Internet. I was seeing someone, let’s call him G (because that’s the first letter of my name), and I became obsessed with finding out anything I could about him. And when I say anything, I mean I listened to multi-hour long podcasts of a girl who had posted on his wall one time. I watched a web series created by his prom date. I would look at which of his exes wrote ‘happy birthday’ on his wall for each of the last three years. And when I say three, I mean five. I’d see when he was last active on Facebook messenger to figure out when he went to sleep. It extended far beyond just G — I was following his entire friend group. I liked G, but I don’t think my feelings towards him were the main drivers in my obsession. I think it spun out of control because of the availability of information and my dissatisfaction with my own life.

The ease with which I found more and more about G online shocked me. I’d tell myself everyday that I was going to stop stalking him, but then I’d discover something new and convince myself I had to dig just a tiny bit deeper. He’s a comedian, and for his career, he makes a lot of his life public. All of his friends are comedians, and they make a lot of their lives public. Several of his exes are comedians, and they make a lot of his life public. I once found a blog post of a woman describing why she broke up with him. The guy I was seeing before G also had a viral blog post written about him. When I realized this had happened twice in a row, I committed myself to writing a viral blog post about any boy who stuck their tongue down my throat at any point in the near or distant future. I have sadly fallen behind.

In addition to the accessibility of information, I became obsessed with his life because I wanted a replacement for my own. I had just left behind a very comfortable life and job in San Francisco, and I was struggling with whether or not to pursue a creative career. I spent most of my days alone in my house, alternating between applying for jobs in the career I wanted to be done with and pretending to write funny things. I’d check Facebook every 8 minutes or so because I wasn’t receiving any emails. It became so easy to check his social media accounts anytime I was waiting for the train or bored at an open mic. His life looked so fun on Instagram. That’s the danger of Instagram — everything looks fun. That’s why I make a deliberate effort to make my life look lame online. You’re welcome. Truthfully, I was just so bored with my life. And I was always sad. His friends seemed fun and cool and well-adjusted. They had their comedy scene figured out, and I desperately wanted the same. I wanted them to be my friends. I’d listen to his friends’ podcasts on repeat. People I didn’t know were making me feel less alone. I think I just wanted to be living someone else’s life. I began to forget this was even about G.

At some point, I was overtaken with shame. We were still seeing each other, and I felt like I was keeping a huge secret from him. I’d be filled with embarrassment anytime I searched something on Instagram because the suggested names were G and all his friends, even if I cleared my search history daily. I was also afraid; in a moment of desperation, I asked a friend with a podcast if he could see who had downloaded it in the iTunes store. I once had a nightmare that his ex-girlfriend sent me angry texts asking why I watched her web series. I was obsessed. I didn’t feel good about it, but I didn’t know how I’d fill my time if I stopped. The idea of quitting made me feel lonely.

G and I stopped seeing each other for reasons unrelated to my Internet stalking (although very much related to my dissatisfaction with my life). I was less upset than I expected about the break up, but I knew that I’d have to give up the stalking. I tried to convince myself that it was just like being a fan of celebrities, but I knew this wasn’t true. Sometimes I’d tell myself it was because G and I were still getting to know each other, and this was part of the fun falling-in-like phase, but after we broke up I no longer had that as an excuse.

Eventually, I had to admit it wasn’t about G at all. I could have taken steps to make my own life better but instead I just let other people’s Internet presence be a replacement for self-improvement. A guy I used to date (and by extension looked at the prom pictures of) recently told me I was self-absorbed. He’s undoubtedly right, but it came in the midst of my infatuation with G’s life, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was so self-absorbed, why would I be fixated on someone else? Then I realized — I was just using the internet as a way to make myself feel better. In some ways, fixating on someone else’s life is the pinnacle of self-absorption. I was literally using him as my own diversion rather than connecting to who he really was. It was never about anyone but me.

Ginny Hogan is a comedian based in New York. To check out more of her writing, follow her on Twitter and Instagram.