It was so strange. Going onto a social media platform I had not been on for years. Seeing so many people I had long forgotten. It was nice to see what everyone was up to these days.
Then I began to feel small.
The startling realization kicking in that I seemed to not exist, and clueless to know how and IF I would ever fit in again.
I wanted to scream so loud, thankfully that was fleeting; a mere millisecond. I stayed quiet and observed instead; skimming through posts and seeing how everyone else wanted so desperately to also matter. Didn’t they all just already know that it was so much easier to disappear and not matter? It wasn’t as if they all just kept right on living their lives or anything!
I remembered why I left. So many people pretending their life was perfect and how everything is just so copacetic, all the silver linings and identical selfie smiles, the check in’s and documenting every waking moment; only to be forgotten and lost under layers and layers; the onslaught of post after post. Or did they all really just want to share their life with everyone. Was anyone paying attention anyway? Weren’t they all just posting one right after the next?
It was all a ruse, an illusion; a delusion, sprinkled with a few genuine thoughts and feelings, somewhere lost in the rubble. Every one of them posting the same stories; bleeding out one on top of the other.
I didn’t care if they missed me, I didn’t belong here anymore. I don’t want to blend in. I won’t drag myself back down into that abyss that had shaken me and sent my anxiety and depression spiraling.
I had been foolish before. My absence had zero impact, my presence won't linger either. I’d be going backwards, making a mockery of any stretch of healing and all the efforts that I poured into loving myself again. I was an outsider, I stayed high on the fray of my own edges. And that dagger piercing my heart was a staunch reminder of what was and still is so truly important. Me. I matter. Even if I only matter to me. It’s enough. I don’t need to matter to anybody else. And. It obviously didn’t matter if I missed them.
It wasn’t like I left because I didn’t care, or didn’t want to stay connected. But depression nearly killed me. I know the road goes both ways.
I’m glad honestly, that I didn’t let them see me come undone. Or perhaps they did but figured it best to let me sort it out myself.
I could be angry that people who called themselves my friend or my family didn’t reach out to check in on why I disappeared, or to ask if I was I okay; or maybe they did and I lied, saying I was fine.
It’s too easy to fall back into these patterns. Pretending like I am okay while wasting an ungodly amount time scrolling, over analyzing and thinking myself into a corner; wearing the weight of hurting my own feelings.
So instead I whispered to myself and wished them all well. I didn’t need to be heard. I went back to my own little world, where I could wander to the edge, look down and see that falling over had lost its appeal.
No thanks, I’ll just fill my time with things that make me smile and embrace the memories of the people I still have so much love for; I’ll think on how we all used to be, before social media took over and reinvented the wheel of connection.
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