Just Click Delete
Quitting Facebook cold turkey
Saturday, October 9th, 2010
About one year and three months ago I pressed delete. And I had to press it around fifteen times to confirm that, yes, I did want to delete my Facebook page. With each click I questioned myself: Will I still be invited to events I would never go to? How would I satisfy my need for useless information like what that girl from my old dorm had for lunch? Where would I get that rush of seeing someone comment on the picture of me I titled with a lyric from an Atmosphere song?
But I resisted the urge to stay logged on. Fifteen clicks later it was gone, and I’ve yet to look back.
The end of my time on Facebook started with a bad joke. Without the tone of my voice around, the flatness of computer type allowed for my “fuck you” photo comment to be taken seriously, causing a cataclysmic series of hurt feelings that was the final straw for me.
Knowing Facebook was the medium for misunderstood humor that almost lost me one of my sweetest friends made me press delete. In my year of being clean I’ve come to see just how damaging the addiction can be, and I’ve found ways to get my high without relapsing back into the social network.
After successful steps in the Getting Off Facebook Plan, I watched people around me continue to OD on the website. I saw one friend spend hours on Facebook trying to and succeeding in figuring out her long distance boyfriend was getting down with someone in his own area code. I saw another friend get brutal burns from his Facebook-broadcasted breakup, his ex changing her status to single as soon as she got home from dumping him.
My simultaneous breakup was only played in real time, the live conversation enough to define my relationship’s end. Playing with broken hearts is never fun, but being clean from Facebook keeps cuts as painful as they need to be without being haunted by relationship status drama -- the kind of Internet hurt that just leaves you coming back for more.
Pressing delete was like retrieving a part of my life I hadn’t realized I’d lost: my peace of mind. With less time spent lost in the depths of Facebook, a place I couldn’t touch, hear, smell or taste, I’ve replaced the high I'd get from the intermittent reinforcement of Facebook with spending more time actually seeing my friends. There is something incredible about looking at someone’s face when they’re speaking. In my post-Facebook life, I’ve spent much more time actually enjoying being with people instead of sitting at home writing about it. All in a world far more tangible and meaningful than cyberspace.
A beautiful world I like to call face-to-face.
But I resisted the urge to stay logged on. Fifteen clicks later it was gone, and I’ve yet to look back.
The end of my time on Facebook started with a bad joke. Without the tone of my voice around, the flatness of computer type allowed for my “fuck you” photo comment to be taken seriously, causing a cataclysmic series of hurt feelings that was the final straw for me.
Knowing Facebook was the medium for misunderstood humor that almost lost me one of my sweetest friends made me press delete. In my year of being clean I’ve come to see just how damaging the addiction can be, and I’ve found ways to get my high without relapsing back into the social network.
After successful steps in the Getting Off Facebook Plan, I watched people around me continue to OD on the website. I saw one friend spend hours on Facebook trying to and succeeding in figuring out her long distance boyfriend was getting down with someone in his own area code. I saw another friend get brutal burns from his Facebook-broadcasted breakup, his ex changing her status to single as soon as she got home from dumping him.
My simultaneous breakup was only played in real time, the live conversation enough to define my relationship’s end. Playing with broken hearts is never fun, but being clean from Facebook keeps cuts as painful as they need to be without being haunted by relationship status drama -- the kind of Internet hurt that just leaves you coming back for more.
Pressing delete was like retrieving a part of my life I hadn’t realized I’d lost: my peace of mind. With less time spent lost in the depths of Facebook, a place I couldn’t touch, hear, smell or taste, I’ve replaced the high I'd get from the intermittent reinforcement of Facebook with spending more time actually seeing my friends. There is something incredible about looking at someone’s face when they’re speaking. In my post-Facebook life, I’ve spent much more time actually enjoying being with people instead of sitting at home writing about it. All in a world far more tangible and meaningful than cyberspace.
A beautiful world I like to call face-to-face.
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