It’s been 13 days since my last login. Actually, it’s been 13 days, 17 hours, and 58 minutes. Not that I’m counting. Really, I’m not, I just happen to be good at math and I appreciate precision.
Figure out what I’m talking about yet? Yep, friends, you guessed it, I’m off the Book–Facebook, that is.
After a pretty rough December, depression-wise, I made the decision to ditch Facebook for 30 days starting January 1, 2014. For many people, Facebook serves as an excellent tool for reconnecting with old friends and classmates, finding long, seemingly lost relatives, and keeping in touch with people whom they just don’t have time to see on a regular basis. (For other people it’s a place to annoy the shit out of everyone with their game requests–No! I don’t want to play your goddamn Zombie Farm Mafia Wordscramble game!)
But for me, Facebook offered little positive influence. Here’s what Facebook is to me, in list form, because I like lists:
-A constant reminder of how exceptional everyone else’s lives are. How productive and crafty these people are. How good they look in bathing suits. How wonderfully kind their significant others are. In contrast, I am basically a piece of dried up turd.
-A database where all of my exes are easily searchable and creepable (Thank you, Facebook, for that new word!). Obviously it’s depressing to see them doing well, but it’s even worse when they appear to be doing mediocre, because I revel in it! Queue me feeling like an awful person. Right. Now.
-A glorious time-suck. Not since the ancient game of Poke It To See If It Moves did such an incredible time-suck exist. Why is my room filthy? Facebook. Why do I owe the library $30? Okay, not Facebook exactly, because I accrued the fees before Facebook existed, but let’s be honest, who even goes to the library now that we have Facebook to so efficiently suck our time into a black hole of laziness?
-An opportunity to really drill into my psyche how horribly disgusting I must be to look at. Eww, my arm looks so fat there. Ugh, my skin is so awful. Then comes the post-browse guilt when I berate myself for being such a horrible feminist. Oh, the layers! It’s a triple-decker shame cake with extra judge-y frosting.
So how does it feel to have been off Facebook for nearly two weeks? It feels like I lost a finger, but like a really deformed one that kind if creeped me out to begin with. Like, I’m still not sure how I feel about it. I mean, fingers are good, but if it’s a gross, creepy one then maybe I can learn to live happily without it?
I don’t know. Maybe it’s too early to tell. I don’t seem to be exponentially happier or more productive, but I think it’s a start. And even if I makes me moderately happier and more productive then I’d say it’s probably worth it.