So, I’m really starting to hate Facebook.
I used to love it. A way for me to share cool stuff with my friends, rant when I need to, in general share my thoughts. I don’t have many outlets. I can’t be myself around most people. But ever since I first discovered its wonders, the internet is where I could openly be myself, as weird and unacceptable as I am.
I was friends with The Couple for a long time, for many years I deluded myself into thinking they were my good, close friends. Since one half of the Couple is a social media manager with a Mass Communications degree, she is of the mind that your online presence should only be sterile boring shit that your mom wouldn’t have problems with. Even if you’re a savvy person that knows how to set privacy levels. Her viewpoint infected me, to the point I began to question *every single thing* I posted, no matter how benign, triggering my anxiety to the point I barely feel like I can say a word.
To be honest, it’s infected me in real life too. My anxiety has been turned up to 11 around people in real life. I hate speaking. I hate forcing meaningless socially acceptable small talk out of my mouth. Nobody talks about anything meaningful. Or hell, anything silly. I hate being around people. I hate having to put on makeup and style my hair. I hate everything about normal social interaction. Because people are judgemental as shit. No one gives you a chance. Asking people to get to know you is impossible, because they simply want a polished outside that’s quick and easy to interpret. No one gives a fuck.
Anymore, I turn to the internet, to myself, to books, to movies, to get any fulfillment out of life. I don’t get fulfillment from other people. How could I? I am weird and unacceptable. All love is conditional. All acceptance is conditional. If you’re ugly and strange, you might as well disappear. Social isolation feels better and better with each day.
There’s only one way I can get love and acceptance and that way is another form of death for me, and even following that path is no assurance of love and acceptance.
Driving away my husband is a slower process. Maybe eventually he will stop wanting anything from me. He’s just another person I have to pretend around. Pretend to be fine. Pretend to be a whole person with something to offer, rather than a husk devoid of any feelings but pain.
Oh boy. This post degenerated quickly. Does it matter? I’m the only one that sees this.
Anyway. So, FB. I would delete my account. I would stop worrying about it. But it serves one useful purpose – it keeps my mother at bay. I feel like soon I will just explode at her, her needy, money-seeking interactions stoke feelings of rage deep inside. She’s clueless, too.
And other people. They feel because they’re my FB friends, they have a way to contact me. So they won’t seek me out through other means. Mostly family I haven’t seen in years. It’s okay, since I am a failure as a woman I’d rather they not see me. I don’t want to see the looks on their faces at my plain, unadorned face. Just don’t need it. Don’t need any of it.
Either accept me, or just f*ck off. I’m sick of people’s sh*t.