'How to deactivate my Facebook account' I type into Google. Surprisingly, it was more straightforward than deactivating my Instagram account last week - a task that seemed so complicated I almost gave up on it. Granted, I am almost 38 years old, but I'm tech savvy enough to be able to follow instructions online. How else did I bake the fluffiest, gluten-free banana bread last weekend?
'Are you sure? You could just logout!' my Facebook account asks me as I hover over the options of why I am choosing to deactivate my account.
'I'll be back. This is just temporary!' I select, forced into not actually permanently deleting either account because I don't want to lose photos and, ultimately, memories. For too long, my morning ritual has involved waking up, grabbing my phone, checking my emails, scrolling through social media, and looking through my Facebook memories.
Today's memories consisted of several years' worth of Facebook statuses wishing my younger sister a happy birthday. The oldest status dated back to 2011, although I am sure there were posts older than that, particularly because in 2008, the year my grandpa died, I updated my Facebook about it an obscene amount, something that still haunts me to this day. Looking through these memories, it dawned on me how drastically our lives have changed since that 'Happy Birthday' status to the 'most awesome' sister, of which I have five. On this day, her 36th birthday, I spent the day having a bath, eating copious amounts of food, and scrolling through Facebook whilst sitting in my decades-old M&S dressing gown. I also spent the entire day alone.
My morning was occupied by watching true crime videos on my tiny phone screen, via one of FB's pages I don't even remember following. I must have watched one video once, and the algorithm sent my Facebook down a rabbit hole. True crime and 'Game of Thrones' memes cropped up on a daily basis.
As I watched one true crime video after another, recordings of real life calls between victim and dispatcher, I found myself pondering 'why'? Why was I drawn to this? Did it hold a particular fascination for me? Why do these atrocities occur? What compels people to commit such heinous acts? Amidst feelings of anger and sadness, I also noticed a troubling desensitisation, even to the most shocking of events. If it wasn't already apparent, our world is fucked, but this is nothing new.
"I'll be back," I select, as I wonder how I'll detox myself from social media's grasp. All of this while Gilmore Girls plays in the background. Maybe it's more that humanity is fucked, as I ask ChatGPT about the conflict between Palestine and Israel, and type in 'god is not real'. ChatGPT tells me to be respectful of others' beliefs and tries to convince me that it can never be proven if god, or gods, are real. I believe the proof is in the videos I spent my morning watching, and in the conflict taking place in Jesus's apparent birthplace, and in the news I read everyday.
The world is fucked. Humanity is fucked. I am fucked. And now, I need to work out how to un-fuck myself.
