OMGOMGOMGOMG!!! It is done!!! It has been two weeks and my Facebook account has been permanently DELETED!!!!! **CONFETTI** **NOISE MAKERS** **TROMBONE SLIDE** I should throw a party or get drunk or something! BODY SHOTS FOR EVERYONE!! Oh, wait. Shit. At least I think it has been deleted. I am afraid to check because if it hasn't, it will let me sign right back in and my two week waiting period will start all over again. BLEAH.
Surprisingly, the past two weeks have gone by relatively quickly. I guess that happens when you aren't checking FB every 5 minutes to see what's going on. I have written on my blog, what, 5 times so far? I have answered important phone calls, made appointments I had neglected, scheduled actual face time with real people. Huh. You mean I could have been doing this all along? What the fuck was wrong with me? I mean, I know there are plenty of things wrong with me, just wondering what specific thing made me feel the need to waste my goddamn time on the Anti-social Network. Now that I have been gone, it's weird. It is like because I do not exist there anymore, it kind of doesn't exist to me. I guess it really doesn't because it absolutely does not affect my daily life. It is so strange and it is something I am sure I will be thinking about for a long time.
Something that I have noticed since I have been gone is the lack of bitterness I have. I have been very, very bitter the past couple of years. Bitter and angry. And resentful. And hateful. And, at times, jealous. The jealousy has been a big one for me because it is not something I normally feel. What was I jealous of? Oh, stupid shit like how someone else's life appeared to be, relationships between other people, how one person might talk to another, but not to me. I also noticed it in others and it pissed me off. I can not take that shit. I can be a hatey, bitter, resentful bitch, but jealousy? Nuh uh, that has got to go. I don't like it from others and I loathe it in myself. LOATHE. There really is no reason for jealousy, right? My personal relationships with people are my own, just as the personal relationships of others are their own. I guess not having everyone's business all up in my face has taken that away. I also found that many people could be pretty nasty towards others (myself included), maybe in a way that they would not be in real life. Since you don't have to face someone you can do and say whatever you like? That's what it felt like to me. Like behind the profiles there wasn't an actual person, which is COMPLETELY understandable and, in some ways, refreshing. Sometimes it is hard to say what you want to say to someone's face. You have time to form thoughts when you write them, you can complete your thought before being interrupted, you may articulate better through writing than spoken word. But, a lot of times things get out of control and that power is abused. People may write things in a way they wouldn't in real life because you are talking to a computer, not a human being. Or, and I know this happens a lot with me, the recipient takes things the wrong way because they have to imagine the tone, especially if they don't know the person well, or at all. Needless to say, I am enjoying not being exposed to those things, I am enjoying a little anonymity, but mostly I am enjoying not knowing what everyone is or isn't doing 95% of the time. Catching up is way more fun when the people you are catching up with don't know most of your shit from Facebook.
Even though I have made some changes and feel like a weight has been lifted, I am totally aware that FB is not the problem. It just became my coping mechanism for a much larger issue. I feel good right now, but I just made a huge change, so that feeling I am having is to be expected. The key is to keep making changes and sticking with them. It's not like the anxiety has just magically disappeared. I still get paranoid and have bouts of self doubt and worry, but at least I am not currently adding to that by trying to control it and make it stop with something that CLEARLY fosters my insecurities. I gotta keep myself in check and make sure I don't pick up some other behavior to take the place of Facebook. Everyone knows that compulsive behavior will do nothing but make everything else spin out of control. Everyone but me for the past few years, apparently. I still have a lot of work and some serious soul searching must be done. There is much to repair in myself and I would like to gain some self confidence back that was lost. Not sure when and how that happened, but damn. It most certainly did happen! I also need to try to concentrate on my little kids. They really need me right now and even though I am always here, I am not always here, you know? I just hope when they write their books about their mentally ill mother, they paint an accurate description.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Saturday, February 23, 2013
The Incident
The first person I ever french kissed was a girl. And, haha, yes, I liked it. I remember it like it just happened and not close to thirty years ago. I was 12, I think she was 11, and she had invited me over for the weekend to swim and hang out. Her mother was a very cool lady, large in body and personality. She kinda just left us alone most of the time to swim in the pool, lounge in the hot tub and, apparently, make out. My friend was quite brash, and I liked that about her. Now I can't help but think she seemed a little more experienced than your average 11 year old. She always came up with the plans and I willingly followed. I had messed around with my little girl friends before, her included, rolling around on the floor, not knowing exactly what to do with our bodies, or even what was happening or how they worked. I had never kissed any of them, not even a peck, but this girl, she made it seem like a good idea. Actually, she didn't even *say* anything, she just did it. It felt really nice and stirred up some things in me that had never occurred. When it was over, I remember feeling extreme guilt, like I had just murdered someone. No one had ever told me that was normal and okay. In fact, I had been taught that having any kind of contact like that with a member of the same sex, was one of the worst sins you could commit. She seemed to be unaffected and I felt like drowning myself in her pool. I was 12, people. I was 12 and wanted to die because I had kissed a girl. Her mother took us to a restaurant for dinner that night. I remember feeling extra small in my oddly high-backed chair, unable to look her mother in the eye. I thought everyone knew and that, any moment, my punishment was coming. Of course it never came.
I went away from that first kiss holding it close and keeping it a secret from everyone. There was no one I could tell. What would people think? I never even confessed to my bishop, or any bishop, in the Mormon church, which is what I was *supposed* to do (did I mention I was brought up Mormon? Maybe somewhere else.). What did it say about me that I could be attracted enough to a girl to let her kiss me? Was I a lesbian? I struggled with it, even into adulthood. Even well into my twenties, I felt shame for being turned on by two women kissing or touching or *gasp* having sex. In fact, it took me until this past year to tell anyone about my first kiss. That's disgusting and sad. What a waste of a good portion of my life, being so afraid that I was a bad person to experience pleasure over something like sex. I think about that day sometimes and wonder how things might have been if I had been taught to love and explore my body, and know that sex is normal and natural. Maybe I would have experimented more with women and had better experiences. I even wonder about my friend, where she is, how she feels about that moment in time. The last time I saw her was at a high school football game and it was awkward for me. I wonder if it was awkward for her as well. Maybe not.
I never question my sexuality now, I know I prefer men, but as an adult who has learned that sexuality can not be defined in black and white terms, I am disappointed that I was never given the opportunity to experience the full range of normal, instead of feeling guilt and shame if anything was ever done outside of marriage with a member of the opposite sex. I am angry. I am hurt. I feel stunted and damaged. I feel for others who have had similar experiences and I hurt for children who don't know any better yet and are being taught to hate themselves. Fuck. I look at my children and I hope I never make them feel ashamed of their normal feelings. I know I don't always do things right, and sometimes when they ask me questions about things, I am dying inside because they are so little and I was never taught how to discuss these things with my kids. All I can do is try to be as open and honest with them as possible, giving them the information they need at the times they need them, never passing judgment, and teaching them to always love and respect themselves as human beings. I am sure I will fuck them up in some way, but this is one area where I can not fail.
I went away from that first kiss holding it close and keeping it a secret from everyone. There was no one I could tell. What would people think? I never even confessed to my bishop, or any bishop, in the Mormon church, which is what I was *supposed* to do (did I mention I was brought up Mormon? Maybe somewhere else.). What did it say about me that I could be attracted enough to a girl to let her kiss me? Was I a lesbian? I struggled with it, even into adulthood. Even well into my twenties, I felt shame for being turned on by two women kissing or touching or *gasp* having sex. In fact, it took me until this past year to tell anyone about my first kiss. That's disgusting and sad. What a waste of a good portion of my life, being so afraid that I was a bad person to experience pleasure over something like sex. I think about that day sometimes and wonder how things might have been if I had been taught to love and explore my body, and know that sex is normal and natural. Maybe I would have experimented more with women and had better experiences. I even wonder about my friend, where she is, how she feels about that moment in time. The last time I saw her was at a high school football game and it was awkward for me. I wonder if it was awkward for her as well. Maybe not.
I never question my sexuality now, I know I prefer men, but as an adult who has learned that sexuality can not be defined in black and white terms, I am disappointed that I was never given the opportunity to experience the full range of normal, instead of feeling guilt and shame if anything was ever done outside of marriage with a member of the opposite sex. I am angry. I am hurt. I feel stunted and damaged. I feel for others who have had similar experiences and I hurt for children who don't know any better yet and are being taught to hate themselves. Fuck. I look at my children and I hope I never make them feel ashamed of their normal feelings. I know I don't always do things right, and sometimes when they ask me questions about things, I am dying inside because they are so little and I was never taught how to discuss these things with my kids. All I can do is try to be as open and honest with them as possible, giving them the information they need at the times they need them, never passing judgment, and teaching them to always love and respect themselves as human beings. I am sure I will fuck them up in some way, but this is one area where I can not fail.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Dancing With Myself Is Way Cooler
Sometimes, when I am really tired and trying to go to sleep, I do this thing where I have conversations in my head with people i know in real life. These are not conversations that I intend on having with them, rather conversations that are existing right in that moment. No, I do not believe I am actually conversing with the person, but I have always felt that I was doing this to either work something out with that person in my own mind, or I choose to confide in specific people in my mind because I trust them. I was doing this last night as I was drifting off to sleep and it suddenly dawned on me, I am just talking to myself. I mean, obviously I am talking to myself, but it seems that whoever (whomever? I never know.) I am speaking with in my mind actually just represents me, or a part of me. Whatever I am speaking to them about is not something I would necessarily say in real life. Usually it is stuff that I need to face on a real level with me and only me. Something that may be torturing me, but I am not willing accept or am in denial over on a surface level.
Of course, this led me to fear. Do other people do this? Is it a sign of some sort of crazy? I am talking to myself through conversations with people I really know, but in my mind. It doesn't even seem like a fantasy because it isn't actually something I desire. At what point should I seek professional help? I can't possibly be insane if I recognize that the conversations aren't real, right? I am just hoping that other people do this and just don't talk about it, like the way people don't really talk about taking a dump or how messy and disgusting you feel after giving birth. I am also hoping that the other people that do it aren't just the crazies out there. Eeeek!
All of this spiraled into an analysis of my relationships with people. Of course it did, because when you are trying to go to sleep at night, the best thing to do is analyze past and existing relationships. It really is the best sleep aid. I wondered how and why I become friends with the people I do and why some people that would seem to be a perfect friend for me on paper, fall short and maybe even turn me off. I don't know how many times someone has said, "Oh, you remind me so much of so and so," then I meet them and I am like, "For realz? No." What I have come up with is this, some people in my life are familiar, like I have been drawn to them because they remind me of someone from childhood and fill that space for me as an adult. Usually I can pinpoint who these people are and who they remind me of. They are comfortable to be around because I already know them on some level. These people are not always the best people for me. Sometimes they are a part of a cycle, which is not always positive, but seems to be becoming more apparent to me as I get older and more aware of who I am and want to be. This brought me to the other types of people in my life. I have often thought that I am attracted to certain people because they represent something that I want to strive to be, that they have a quality I do not possess and want to learn from them how to achieve greatness. This may be part of it, but last night, in my bedtime state, I realized that isn't really the case. All the people I admire for their different qualities and individual personalities all have something I already have and they bring it out and that *thing* is complimented by them. Maybe it shines a little brighter in them and I am trying to bask in the glow of their light, hoping mine will follow suit. Maybe one day all of these things will come together for me and the light will burn so bright that it explodes from my body as I reach my full potential. It would be fucking amazing.
Of course, these aren't the only reasons I am friends with people. Obviously, they have to be cool and fun and not a dickhead or asshole. My friends have to be willing to act ridiculous sometimes too, because I refuse to live in a world of constant seriousness. There is nothing better than a bunch of great friends coming together and acting like they're 12. They also kinda have to like me, at least a little. That wouldn't really work if they didn't.
As I finally started to feel my eyes droop and I was reaching stage 1, I was appreciating my friends and really feeling a full heart and a peaceful mind. I wanted to tell each one of them, "You are special to me. I love you. My life is more interesting with you in it." A little anxiety hit when I thought I might die in my sleep and never get to tell them how I feel about them, but I was able to squash that fairly quickly by telling myself to shut the fuck and go to sleep.
On a side note, while it may seem as though I smoked pot before bed, I swear this is not the case. Peace.
Of course, this led me to fear. Do other people do this? Is it a sign of some sort of crazy? I am talking to myself through conversations with people I really know, but in my mind. It doesn't even seem like a fantasy because it isn't actually something I desire. At what point should I seek professional help? I can't possibly be insane if I recognize that the conversations aren't real, right? I am just hoping that other people do this and just don't talk about it, like the way people don't really talk about taking a dump or how messy and disgusting you feel after giving birth. I am also hoping that the other people that do it aren't just the crazies out there. Eeeek!
All of this spiraled into an analysis of my relationships with people. Of course it did, because when you are trying to go to sleep at night, the best thing to do is analyze past and existing relationships. It really is the best sleep aid. I wondered how and why I become friends with the people I do and why some people that would seem to be a perfect friend for me on paper, fall short and maybe even turn me off. I don't know how many times someone has said, "Oh, you remind me so much of so and so," then I meet them and I am like, "For realz? No." What I have come up with is this, some people in my life are familiar, like I have been drawn to them because they remind me of someone from childhood and fill that space for me as an adult. Usually I can pinpoint who these people are and who they remind me of. They are comfortable to be around because I already know them on some level. These people are not always the best people for me. Sometimes they are a part of a cycle, which is not always positive, but seems to be becoming more apparent to me as I get older and more aware of who I am and want to be. This brought me to the other types of people in my life. I have often thought that I am attracted to certain people because they represent something that I want to strive to be, that they have a quality I do not possess and want to learn from them how to achieve greatness. This may be part of it, but last night, in my bedtime state, I realized that isn't really the case. All the people I admire for their different qualities and individual personalities all have something I already have and they bring it out and that *thing* is complimented by them. Maybe it shines a little brighter in them and I am trying to bask in the glow of their light, hoping mine will follow suit. Maybe one day all of these things will come together for me and the light will burn so bright that it explodes from my body as I reach my full potential. It would be fucking amazing.
Of course, these aren't the only reasons I am friends with people. Obviously, they have to be cool and fun and not a dickhead or asshole. My friends have to be willing to act ridiculous sometimes too, because I refuse to live in a world of constant seriousness. There is nothing better than a bunch of great friends coming together and acting like they're 12. They also kinda have to like me, at least a little. That wouldn't really work if they didn't.
As I finally started to feel my eyes droop and I was reaching stage 1, I was appreciating my friends and really feeling a full heart and a peaceful mind. I wanted to tell each one of them, "You are special to me. I love you. My life is more interesting with you in it." A little anxiety hit when I thought I might die in my sleep and never get to tell them how I feel about them, but I was able to squash that fairly quickly by telling myself to shut the fuck and go to sleep.
On a side note, while it may seem as though I smoked pot before bed, I swear this is not the case. Peace.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
WARNING: Vomit And Poop Ahead
My kids have been sick this week. With vomit. GUH. It is seriously my most dreaded illness, especially because not all of them are able to use the toilet yet, so it becomes this violent pukefest all over the house. This time was not so bad though. Only two kids puked and it went really fast. Plus, we have escaped many, many illnesses this year, so I can't complain.
When I had my first, I was WAY worried about the puke. I had never dealt with cleaning up another human's vomit in my life. I felt totally unprepared, so, of course, I tried to arm myself. I asked my mom friends, "What do you do if they puke in the car? What do you do if they puke in the house? What do you do if they puke on the wall? What do you do if they puke on you?" By the time my first child threw up, I was armed and ready. Towels were on hand, bath was ready to go, bleach and hand sanitizer were close at hand. I found myself surprisingly calm and capable. I was mostly concerned for my poor, little baby who had no fucking clue what was happening to him and was wondering why I couldn't just make it go away. I felt so bad for the little guy. Cleaning up his mess seemed so easy.
Fast forward to two kids later. I am still prepared for every situation, weighing the odds of them all puking at the same time and trying to accept that that scenario *could* happen. Now, though, I am way less emotional. I go into robot mode. Bath, bleach, wipe. Bath, bleach, wipe. My only goal, at this point, is to get everything cleaned up so I can go to bed because it ALWAYS happens at some REFUCKINGDONKULOUS time of night when I am RIPPED from a dead sleep and TRYING to dream of a place where I am young and beautiful and no one is counting on me to make breakfast, wipe asses, or get them a GODDAMN DRINK OF WATER. Of course, once I have woken up enough to clean everything up and assure them that they will feel better soon, I can't go back to sleep! I lay there for hours, TRYING, then finally, sweet, sweet sleee...BLAAAAARRRRGH! More vomit. It is no use trying to get rest. It becomes a vicious cycle of bleaching, insomnia, stage 1 sleep, VOMIT
The worst time I remember was after my third was born, but was still a baby and sleeping in my bed. I was nursing her most of the night, so I was already exhausted. Suddenly, the Black Plague ripped through our house. It felt like it lasted forever. First one got sick with vomit. Then diarrhea. By then, the second was puking, so I was dealing with one puker and one shitter. Puke, shit, puke, shit. Then, the third started puking, but neither of the other two were over the shits. Puke, shit, shit, puke. Puke, shit, shit, puke. It was a fucking nightmare. I was exhausted. I actually wished for death, many, many times. The puking and shitting was something out of horror movies. I had been cleaning up puke and shit FOREVER. Then, one night, when I was near my end, I went to help my young daughter in the bathroom, shit everywhere. I was calm while I cleaned her up. I offered encouraging words, kissed her on her head, and got her ready to go back to bed. I pushed the hair out of my face and went to the sink to wash my hands. As I looked in the mirror, I was stunned. I had poop in my hair. Actual poop. POOP!! And right in that moment, I didn't freak out, I didn't cry, I didn't jump as quickly as I could into the shower (shortly after though). Right at that moment, it hit me. This is me. A mom. This is my job. It won't last forever, but right now, there is no time for vanity, there is no time for anger, and there is no time for FREAKING THE FUCK OUT BECAUSE THERE IS POOP IN MY HAIR. What it is time for is rolling with the punches and being able to laugh that shit off.
So, in closing, I had poop in my muthafucking hair. That is all.
When I had my first, I was WAY worried about the puke. I had never dealt with cleaning up another human's vomit in my life. I felt totally unprepared, so, of course, I tried to arm myself. I asked my mom friends, "What do you do if they puke in the car? What do you do if they puke in the house? What do you do if they puke on the wall? What do you do if they puke on you?" By the time my first child threw up, I was armed and ready. Towels were on hand, bath was ready to go, bleach and hand sanitizer were close at hand. I found myself surprisingly calm and capable. I was mostly concerned for my poor, little baby who had no fucking clue what was happening to him and was wondering why I couldn't just make it go away. I felt so bad for the little guy. Cleaning up his mess seemed so easy.
Fast forward to two kids later. I am still prepared for every situation, weighing the odds of them all puking at the same time and trying to accept that that scenario *could* happen. Now, though, I am way less emotional. I go into robot mode. Bath, bleach, wipe. Bath, bleach, wipe. My only goal, at this point, is to get everything cleaned up so I can go to bed because it ALWAYS happens at some REFUCKINGDONKULOUS time of night when I am RIPPED from a dead sleep and TRYING to dream of a place where I am young and beautiful and no one is counting on me to make breakfast, wipe asses, or get them a GODDAMN DRINK OF WATER. Of course, once I have woken up enough to clean everything up and assure them that they will feel better soon, I can't go back to sleep! I lay there for hours, TRYING, then finally, sweet, sweet sleee...BLAAAAARRRRGH! More vomit. It is no use trying to get rest. It becomes a vicious cycle of bleaching, insomnia, stage 1 sleep, VOMIT
The worst time I remember was after my third was born, but was still a baby and sleeping in my bed. I was nursing her most of the night, so I was already exhausted. Suddenly, the Black Plague ripped through our house. It felt like it lasted forever. First one got sick with vomit. Then diarrhea. By then, the second was puking, so I was dealing with one puker and one shitter. Puke, shit, puke, shit. Then, the third started puking, but neither of the other two were over the shits. Puke, shit, shit, puke. Puke, shit, shit, puke. It was a fucking nightmare. I was exhausted. I actually wished for death, many, many times. The puking and shitting was something out of horror movies. I had been cleaning up puke and shit FOREVER. Then, one night, when I was near my end, I went to help my young daughter in the bathroom, shit everywhere. I was calm while I cleaned her up. I offered encouraging words, kissed her on her head, and got her ready to go back to bed. I pushed the hair out of my face and went to the sink to wash my hands. As I looked in the mirror, I was stunned. I had poop in my hair. Actual poop. POOP!! And right in that moment, I didn't freak out, I didn't cry, I didn't jump as quickly as I could into the shower (shortly after though). Right at that moment, it hit me. This is me. A mom. This is my job. It won't last forever, but right now, there is no time for vanity, there is no time for anger, and there is no time for FREAKING THE FUCK OUT BECAUSE THERE IS POOP IN MY HAIR. What it is time for is rolling with the punches and being able to laugh that shit off.
So, in closing, I had poop in my muthafucking hair. That is all.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
So, two things happened this week. The first thing is, I LEFT FACEBOOK!!! You heard me right. I broke the hell up with Facebook! Like done, finished, finito. It was a shock to me as much as everyone else cuz I never thought I would be able to break that chain!! Now for the second thing. Okay, I totally lied. There is no second thing. I mean, I have done plenty of other things this week, but nothing nearly as huge as my break up with the big FB. It may actually be the biggest thing I have done in the last ten years. Well, besides giving birth to three children, losing forty pounds and running two marathons. So, yeah. It's like the fourth biggest thing I have done in the last ten years.
Why did I leave, you ask? Well, I will tell you. First, a friend sent me this: http://www.cnn.com/2013/02/05/tech/social-media/facebook-breaks-pew/index.html?c=us.
I have been known to take breaks from FB and every time I have gone back, I die a little. The information coming at me seems to do a number on my brain that I just can't deal with. My friends list was out of control, I knew too much about people I would rather not know, and I felt like I was on display all the time. I was in a perpetual state of anxiety, worrying all of the time about what people thought about my posts or comments, wondering who I had offended that day or why I hadn't heard from such and such. I couldn't stay off though. I was ALWAYS on. Even if I wasn't, I was. FB was the first thing I thought about when I woke up, and the last thing I thought about before going to sleep. I even dreamed about FB. What kind of sick bitch dreams about FB?! When I read the article above, I felt like there was only one answer, but I hadn't quite gotten to that point. Then, the very next day, I was moving stuff around, rearranging my lists, hiding my stuff, stressing over who could see what, movingstuffaround, rearrangingmylists, hidingmystuff, stressingaboutwhocouldseewhat, movingstuffaroundrearrangingmylistshidingmystuffstressingaboutwhocouldseewhat... and then, I thought, "What the fuck am I doing? No, really! WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK AM I DOING?!" I would never involve myself in something that caused me this much stress. Ever. Not even for my kids.
"Mom, can I have my birthday at Chuck E. Cheese?"
"You know what? Yes. When you have a job and make your own money and can drive yourself, you are more than welcome to have your birthday at Chuck E. Cheese."
My anxiety level had reached an all time high and right then and there, I knew. Well, I knew right after I consulted a few of my peeps. I knew I had had enough. ENOUGH!! And suddenly, just like that, my heart slowed down and I felt at peace. A peace I had not felt in a really long time. Nothing bad was going to happen if I left PhazeBook. Nothing at all. I might lose contact with a few people, but not if they are important, right?
I decided not to just quit abruptly. There were actually people I needed to get contact info. from and I wanted to let people know that I was unfriending everyone, not just them. What better way to get the word out than post it on FB, amirite? So, I did. I gave everyone a few days to get used to the idea and send me their info. It also made it real for me so I wouldn't back out. I have quit stuff before and know that telling people you are quitting an addiction is the best way to make yourself follow through. Not sure if my Facebooking qualifies as an addiction, but if it doesn't then I don't know what does. Not everyone was as pleased as I to find out I was leaving. The sure sign I was doing right by me was the fact that I just didn't care anymore. If I stayed, it would be for others, not myself. It was not in my best interest AT ALL. I was so happy!! HAPPY!!
I waited until the last day to save all of my pictures I had posted over the last 5 years. That is when I broke down. For every picture I saved and deleted off my account, I cried. I cried harder than I have cried in a long time. I cried over my pictures, I cried about not being involved, I cried about the people I might lose touch with. Mostly, I cried about not being able to feel normal in the FB world, having no self control, and shutting myself off from real life for so long. It got even worse when I went to delete my account. Pictures from 5 of my friends popped up. "Lisa B. will miss you." FUCK!! Lisa B. WILL miss me!! Goddamn Facebook, you ruthless bitch!! I even started to bargain with myself. Maybe I didn't have to delete my whole account. I could just take a really, really long break. Like 6 months or something. Maybe I could start another page under a false name. Maybe I could just delete the majority of my friends list. And there it was. ANXIETY. So, no. I could do nothing less than get rid of that thing. The thing that had been consuming me for years. I have now been gone for 5 days and I already feel like a new person. I actually care very little about what might be going on over in Facebook land. Of course, I know that this may be the honeymoon period for me. By week 3 I could be a total fucking basket case, wishing I had never left. I am giving myself at least 2 months to feel perfectly normal without it. If it's less, than that is just an extra bonus!
Now, I don't think Facebook is all bad. I have made some very good friends through FB that I would not have known otherwise. I have also been able to reconnect with people that I never thought I would hear from again. But, for me, FB just doesn't work, at least not the way I was using it or the way I wanted it to. I need facial expressions, eye contact, human touch. I need constant movement and activity. What I don't need is to be sitting on my ass, most of the day, trying to communicate with people that do not affect my daily life. I do not need to dance and be "on" all the time. And mostly, what I don't want, is the person who does my eulogy to say, "We are here today to celebrate the life of my best friend, Apparentlyatotal B. I don't know her in real life, but MAN, She is funny as shit on Facebook!" So, peace out, Facebook. I am done being your bitch.
Why did I leave, you ask? Well, I will tell you. First, a friend sent me this: http://www.cnn.com/2013/02/05/tech/social-media/facebook-breaks-pew/index.html?c=us.
I have been known to take breaks from FB and every time I have gone back, I die a little. The information coming at me seems to do a number on my brain that I just can't deal with. My friends list was out of control, I knew too much about people I would rather not know, and I felt like I was on display all the time. I was in a perpetual state of anxiety, worrying all of the time about what people thought about my posts or comments, wondering who I had offended that day or why I hadn't heard from such and such. I couldn't stay off though. I was ALWAYS on. Even if I wasn't, I was. FB was the first thing I thought about when I woke up, and the last thing I thought about before going to sleep. I even dreamed about FB. What kind of sick bitch dreams about FB?! When I read the article above, I felt like there was only one answer, but I hadn't quite gotten to that point. Then, the very next day, I was moving stuff around, rearranging my lists, hiding my stuff, stressing over who could see what, movingstuffaround, rearrangingmylists, hidingmystuff, stressingaboutwhocouldseewhat, movingstuffaroundrearrangingmylistshidingmystuffstressingaboutwhocouldseewhat... and then, I thought, "What the fuck am I doing? No, really! WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK AM I DOING?!" I would never involve myself in something that caused me this much stress. Ever. Not even for my kids.
"Mom, can I have my birthday at Chuck E. Cheese?"
"You know what? Yes. When you have a job and make your own money and can drive yourself, you are more than welcome to have your birthday at Chuck E. Cheese."
My anxiety level had reached an all time high and right then and there, I knew. Well, I knew right after I consulted a few of my peeps. I knew I had had enough. ENOUGH!! And suddenly, just like that, my heart slowed down and I felt at peace. A peace I had not felt in a really long time. Nothing bad was going to happen if I left PhazeBook. Nothing at all. I might lose contact with a few people, but not if they are important, right?
I decided not to just quit abruptly. There were actually people I needed to get contact info. from and I wanted to let people know that I was unfriending everyone, not just them. What better way to get the word out than post it on FB, amirite? So, I did. I gave everyone a few days to get used to the idea and send me their info. It also made it real for me so I wouldn't back out. I have quit stuff before and know that telling people you are quitting an addiction is the best way to make yourself follow through. Not sure if my Facebooking qualifies as an addiction, but if it doesn't then I don't know what does. Not everyone was as pleased as I to find out I was leaving. The sure sign I was doing right by me was the fact that I just didn't care anymore. If I stayed, it would be for others, not myself. It was not in my best interest AT ALL. I was so happy!! HAPPY!!
I waited until the last day to save all of my pictures I had posted over the last 5 years. That is when I broke down. For every picture I saved and deleted off my account, I cried. I cried harder than I have cried in a long time. I cried over my pictures, I cried about not being involved, I cried about the people I might lose touch with. Mostly, I cried about not being able to feel normal in the FB world, having no self control, and shutting myself off from real life for so long. It got even worse when I went to delete my account. Pictures from 5 of my friends popped up. "Lisa B. will miss you." FUCK!! Lisa B. WILL miss me!! Goddamn Facebook, you ruthless bitch!! I even started to bargain with myself. Maybe I didn't have to delete my whole account. I could just take a really, really long break. Like 6 months or something. Maybe I could start another page under a false name. Maybe I could just delete the majority of my friends list. And there it was. ANXIETY. So, no. I could do nothing less than get rid of that thing. The thing that had been consuming me for years. I have now been gone for 5 days and I already feel like a new person. I actually care very little about what might be going on over in Facebook land. Of course, I know that this may be the honeymoon period for me. By week 3 I could be a total fucking basket case, wishing I had never left. I am giving myself at least 2 months to feel perfectly normal without it. If it's less, than that is just an extra bonus!
Now, I don't think Facebook is all bad. I have made some very good friends through FB that I would not have known otherwise. I have also been able to reconnect with people that I never thought I would hear from again. But, for me, FB just doesn't work, at least not the way I was using it or the way I wanted it to. I need facial expressions, eye contact, human touch. I need constant movement and activity. What I don't need is to be sitting on my ass, most of the day, trying to communicate with people that do not affect my daily life. I do not need to dance and be "on" all the time. And mostly, what I don't want, is the person who does my eulogy to say, "We are here today to celebrate the life of my best friend, Apparentlyatotal B. I don't know her in real life, but MAN, She is funny as shit on Facebook!" So, peace out, Facebook. I am done being your bitch.
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