I’ve done something so unbelievable for me, that I have
shocked even myself. No I have not got a job in an office, I have suspended my
personal facebook account.
For those of you who can’t even remember their log in, this
will seem an odd revelation. But for those of you who, like me, got sucked into
the vortex and loved every minute of it, you’ll be reaching for your device and
checking, just to make sure that I’m not just attention seeking by saying something
outrageous. Because I am, as Tommy Honey once said, and I quote: A promosexual.
Someone who seeks every opportunity to say ‘Look at me!’ and facebook is
perfect for that. And I LOVE it. I can exercise my wit, and have my opinion noted,
which as I realise, in the famous words of Harry Callahan in Dead Pool (1988) ‘Opinions are like assholes. Everybody has one.’
So skip forward a few years to now, and why the change of
heart?
Well, it’s not just because of Black Mirror Season 3’s ‘Nose Dive.’ (watch that and you'll put down your phone...)
It started out innocently enough. It always does- reluctantly
joining, getting the kids to show you how, just 9 friends for a long time including
my family… then 5 years later, ending up with over 300 fb friends, not because
I’m wildly popular, but because I meet people I want to follow and they don’t
have a separate public page for their work, so I friend them and
(uncomfortably) they just post their work and links to events, but are party to
my political opinions, family moments, and occasional rants, most of which are
written to amuse my actual friends and family, you know, the ones you hang out
with.
But last week, I had an issue that I’d been simmering about.
I vented on facebook, to my friends (I never go public on the settings) and to
cut a long story short, social media bit me in the ass, after I had willingly
bared it. Waved it even. I won’t go into details, because I’m STILL RIGHT. You
know? But it had repercussions that I was uncomfortable with and made me feel
bad about myself in the world.
Note to self: just because people aren’t liking or
commenting, doesn’t mean they aren’t noting everything you say and sharing it well
beyond your internet walls.
http://xkcd.com/386/ |
When I took down the somewhat out of hand thread, I considered all the
time I spend on facebook. I reach for it first thing in the morning, before I
pee (TMI I know, sorry). It’s at the breakfast table with me on my tablet (this outrage
with poor grammar was in The Herald, share), and in the traffic jams on my smartphone
(just as well I have this great coffee from Raglan Roast! share). When I’m
working, it’s there on my desktop (I have this major deadline, share) and with
me again whilst cooking dinner (My Food Bag, facebooked plated deliciousness, share),
binge watching TV drama (can you believe how ridiculous the plot is for TheKettering Incident? share) and the last thing I see before I sleep (I’ve got this great book, click, share). Not much of a compliment to my husband… (he’s snoring,
share).
I’m a writer but I barely read anymore. That little red
notification icon is like crack. I can’t ignore it, it draws me in. Distracting me. The FOMO is
unbearable.
It’s ridiculous.
So I decided to commit facebookicide. I warned all friends who
cared to notice that I was shutting down my account and would be offline by
9pm. They could get hold of me the usual way, by email and phone, and bumping
into me at cafes. Then I went about the deactivation process.
Hah! It’s not as easy as you think. Facebook asks you every
step of the way, Why? Are you sure about this? Would you like to speak to
someone? Would you like to leave your estate to someone you care about?
Download your digital life for posterity. Don’t go, it pleads, don’t LEAVE US!
In the end I opted for suspending it, for a time. It was
such an ordeal to leave, I figured it would be the same to log back in. Phew,
safe from myself. Then I had a sudden panicked thought ‘My public pages! My
hard won 1000 plus followers. MY WORK!’ I had literally made myself redundant
by shutting down my facebook account which had several pages linked to it.
I rushed to my husband’s computer and looked at his facebook
page, luckily logged on and searched for myself. As his wife and friend I was
gone- no trace of me. He could start afresh if he wanted to. With a new wife. My children were motherless; I
was invisible to myself and the world. But Fifi Colston Creative, the public
woman of no political persuasion, just fun art, what of her? I logged into my pages manager on my tablet. Well helloooo from facebook. You're back! (no I'm not!) She was there- thank the gods! But
untouchable unless I was me. I couldn’t post on my own page. I was like a memory of myself,
before I ruined my life by opening my big mouth.
I considered the options and considered appointing the husband as an
administrator. But that was clearly not going to work, as it meant logging into
his account and whilst we share pretty much everything, he still won’t tell me
his password (I think in truth he’s forgotten it.) The only solution I could
come up with in the end was to create another personal page as a fictitious
persona, then log back into my own account, friend ‘myself’ and grant the new ‘me’
admin status.
I made my new self 20 years younger and with a much more
interesting degree.
I logged back in to my old personal account, hating myself for doing
it, waiting to answer the trillion fb questions about why I was back so I could
access myself. Pressed enter and… welcome back Fi!
Like I’d never been away.
The red notifications beacon told me 97 important things had happened since I’d
been away for a day. I nearly looked at them, but pulled myself back and kept
on with what I was there for. Get in quick, do the business and out again,
leaving no footprints.
I’ve been 6 days without facebook now. That’s a lie of
course, I have my new account with 4 trusted friends who know the ins and outs
of why I left. I have only liked one public page- my own. The friends friends have
already tried to friend me (why? I’m not actually real) but I remain aloof and unfriendable,
all my controls locked down to ‘only me.’ I don’t post (except for my public
page). I have got on with work deadlines, I might even read a book, and finish
that novel I’ve been writing. It’s liberating as hell. I might never go back.
And anyway, there’s always Instagram.
the cat |