The Void.
004: on social media addiction, online validation and cancel culture
1.
Writing this on my way to the Emergency Room feels so insane, but here we go.
This is probably the fifth panic attack I have in a week. My body is all paralyzed and I’m all red. This probably isn’t what I thought being a writer should be like. Paris, Typewriter, Violets, Wine Glasses, Experiences. Maybe it is like that, but I wouldn’t know, because I’m a different kind of writer. I am, almost inevitably, a social media writer. I only exist when you open up your phone.
I never thought you could have animosity towards people you don’t know in real life. Envy, obsession, anger, bitterness, scare call, scare email, you’re stupid, you’re a dog, you’re a fake, trap phone calls, trap dms, close phone, void. These things only exist because I exist. If I close my phone, what feels like all the problems in the world go away. But the feeling stays. Not just for now, but for forever. This is probably the fifth panic attack I have in a week.
I also never thought you could love someone you don’t know in real life. Like, restack, new free subscriber, you’re amazing, we’re with you, nice dms, heart emoji, heart warm, close phone, void gets somehow smaller. These things also exist because I exist, I put my experiences out there, and somehow, I was able to find love in a tiny screen. If I close my phone, what feels like all the love in the world is not mine anymore, in fact, it might go away in seconds. The feeling doesn’t stay as long. Not for forever, but just for now.
Wounds stay longer on your body than lipstick marks, you’ve been hugged way too many times on your life, but maybe that one time you’ve been slapped is all you can remember. Your face is still warm. Being on the internet feels like getting punched over and over again sometimes. Except when you’re loved. And then you’re not. And then you’re hated. And then you’re a mess, and then your grammar sucks, and then you close your phone, and then it’s gone. Just for now, maybe not for forever.
You feel your brain getting scars, you somehow feel your skin get thicker, you can taste the blood on your mouth. Being a writer in the 21st century is typing an opinion piece and an apology letter at the same time. If this was aimed, I didn’t mean to aim, I’m sorry if I aimed.
Being a writer in the 21st century is also having to hear the two sides of the story, having to put in your two cents, having to be two people. The newspaper didn’t like, I demand you to delete, I urge you to withdraw. Who will you be to please the two sides of the story? How much of you will you put into your own words? Hard, right? I say the wrong thing, it’s over. I get upset over something, it’s over. I open my heart to a potential doxxer, oh for sure it’s OVER. I used to chew longer on really yummy stuff when I was a child because I was always scared of never tasting it again. So you can imagine how I feel as a social media writer. Will I lose EVERYTHING one day? Well, I for sure lose a bit of myself at every moment.
I joke that I am, and maybe always will be, a C-list blogger because I could never reach the A. I feel too much, I think too much, I can’t handle injustice. I break, I shatter. If I didn’t like something, I’ll probably feel it. And type it. And share it. I want to feel the now, not caring about the forever. I want a glimpse of Paris, Typewriter, Violets, Wine Glasses, Experiences, being loved. Maybe even being hated. I want to feel, even knowing that if I close my phone, it’ll probably kill me. The love and the hate I receive is the smoke I blow to fill in the void. I’m blowing the smoke that will eventually fucking kill me.
I’m on the way to the emergency room, and I’m thinking about who I am without my phone. The fact that I don’t know makes my heart break. Man, you need to get off that phone. I know I’m nothing if you close it, but I’m sure we’ll be thinking about each other when we realize that we share a sun and a moon.
I’m not everyone’s best friend, and I’m not a petty bitch who thinks everything is about her, I’m a 5 feet tall woman with long brown hair that is about to feed her neighbor’s cat because he forgets to do it sometimes. I’m a woman who needs to restock her toilet paper. I’m a woman who always carries a tide pen in her purse. I’m not a princess, nor a monster. That’s when the phone is on.
If I close it for a second, all the love and all the hate goes away. Maybe the void is comfortable, after all. Maybe it will let me exist for once, maybe materialize myself, even.
This is probably the fifth panic attack I have in a week. Over restacks. Over dms. Over comments. Your post has been viewed 13k times. Restack: I hate her. Comment: She’s so incredibly immature…
How the fuck do I explain this to this 73 year old man standing in front of me?!
This is my body telling me that I should know who I am if I close my phone. I should know. I will know.
I should block more. Blocking for now and for forever. For my own forever. For my own sake. Instant relief. Lipstick marks on my brain scars. Fashionable. I won’t heal right away, but it surely does help me.
Alix shared a very cute picture and said she thought of me. Bella fills me with music. New music. Amy got a very exciting opportunity she beautifully shared with me. People living their lives. Lives filled with cute shit, and music, and overpriced cafes, and laughs. Wait a minute. Paris, Typewriter, Violets, Wine Glasses, Experiences. They’re closing their phones, their lives filled with no instant forever. I know life is not always going to be that easy. But at least you won’t have two selves to worry about all the time. Maybe your hands won’t shake as much. Life is a big maybe. And the void IS comforting. It IS better to not know some things. I am nothing when I close my phone. I love existing in the nothingness. I’m not loved or hated. I’m simply nothing. I’m floating.
Now close your phone and say goodbye to my virtual self. We’ll see each other next week, or we’ll keep floating on the nothingness. Gone fishin.
This is the first epiphany I had in a week. I hope it works for you too.
Much love,
User 850 904 001.
CERTIFIED. Is a reader supported publication. If you liked the crazy shit you just read, consider becoming a paid subscriber for exclusive content or even buying me a cup of coffee if you’re nice. Thank you! :)
update: i’m okay!!! i promise!!! lol! :)))
wow this hit me hard, sending hugs your way 🫂