My Favorite Addiction

I was a late bloomer in the Facebook craze; in fact I actively tried to avoid it. I held onto MySpace, with it’s no nonsense these are my ten favorite people -fuck the rest of you and creative profile backgrounds WITH MUSIC. I vaguely remember learning something that seemed liked coding when I used a background that wasn’t one of the standards. It was all too much but somehow not enough. So reluctantly in 2009, I joined Facebook. In the beginning I used it in much the same way many people did. Inside jokes with my friends, finding people I knew in high school, declaring details too intimate for social media and sharing funny animal pictures. Facebook and I lived together this way for many years. I played games and tagged photos and checked yes without hesitation when asked if it was ok to access my phone number-email address-age-data-first born. What could it hurt?

Although it is hard to admit now, I instinctively knew Trump was going to win sometime in the beginning of 2016. Suddenly, the friends I had known as a teenager were posting disgusting political memes. I had to unfriend my future brother in law because he posted a “joking” meme about Hillary being a murderer. Facebook was toxic and the toxicity was going to win.

I pretended I didn’t see this. I thought I could counter this narrative by sharing factual statements and actual reporting. I thought I could be louder. One of my family members, whom I regularly engaged with, sent me a link from Infowars as a counterpoint to my argument. I said “ Try something else. I won’t listen to your point unless you can send me information from a reputable source.” He said “ I don’t really know what Infowars is.” I love and respect this family member. But he didn’t bother to read beyond the headline, beyond the lies, beyond his confirmation bias. How many thousands of people are like him? Many months later he will say because of me he is more cautious of his sources and researches articles more thoroughly. I am grateful. But this took a year. And he is one person. Can ordinary citizens really make a difference even when we try?

Social media is notorious for not giving a shit. Not about your privacy. Not about your speech. Not about abuse. A few months ago I decided I needed a break. After Trump was elected I took a two week hiatus from Facebook but this time I really meant it. In March, I deactivated my account.

It lasted two months.

I fully intended it to last longer. The first week was tough. Someone would mention something they saw. Another person would say “I was going to tag you but…” After that initial week though, it wasn’t so bad. Anytime I went to look at my app, I did something else. I thought I would use Twitter more but I didn’t. I found something outside of social media to satisfy that craving.

But in May, I got married and it was the third anniversary of my mom’s death. The pull of wedding photos and writing her annual letter was too much. Facebook was how I shared all of my blog posts. Any validation I received as a writer came through the comments on a Facebook post. I wondered — am I really a writer if no one reads my work?

Since the end of May I have been back on Facebook. I shared less and watched more. The notifications annoyed me. Some days, I don’t look at all. I wonder — am I really a person that needs this platform?

This week, Facebook made clear humanity isn’t really that important to them. When called out for allowing Infowars and Alex Jones ( a website and host that have said the Sandy Hook murders were child actors) on their site, Facebook said “ We don’t think banning pages for sharing conspiracy theories or false news is the right way to go.” Facebook doesn’t care if they warp your mind, they’re just hoping they get paid for it.

Since losing my mom so suddenly, I want to hold onto every record of her I have. This includes Facebook daily memories. Photos and anecdotes. It is the reason that I couldn’t fully commit to deleting my profile previously. My writing will hopefully, eventually stand on it’s own. My memories with my mom don’t get a second chance. When the photo of our blood orange martinis on New Years Eve no longer exists, I hope to remember how pretty Madre looked sitting in the dark candle lit booth. I hope to remember how she was willing to try anything, bar hopping in this city her daughter called home. Facebook will never give me that.

In a few days when I delete my Facebook permanently, I’ll think about how proud she would be. She loved attention but her convictions were more important. In this way as in many other ways, we are the same.

I struggled with thinking “Is it better to be loud with my convictions or quiet in my dissent?” I’ve decided to do both. Facebook doesn’t deserve my data or my ad revenue. They don’t deserve my energy or my anger. I’ll continue speaking out against racists and Trump ( also a racist) in all of the ways that I can. I hope my country becomes something I can be proud of someday. In the meantime, I’ll be enjoying my life and writing for a small audience. Me and Madre. If you feel inclinded to join, I hope you will. I’ll hold a seat at the table for you.