#goodbye
That was Twitter’s slightly curt parting shot when I deactivated my Twitter account a few days ago. Hitting me with one last hashtag seemed a little ironic given I no longer had any opportunity to use it. Perhaps it was a halfhearted ploy to tempt me to reactivate my account. After all, I have one month to do so, as Twitter let me know with a nod and a wink.
To be honest, I was a little disappointed by the lack of hoo-ha around my departure. I had half expected something akin to when one tries to cancel a streaming subscription, and are constantly bombarded with ‘Are you sure?’ and ‘Why not have another month for $1?’. NOW TV were head of the class when it comes to this psychological manipulation.
But Twitter did no such thing. It just warned me that my account would be temporarily deleted, and then a month later irretrievable, and then said its smug farewell. Perhaps it’s intentional. After all, Twitter surely doesn’t want someone on its wonderfully sociable platform who is willing to cast aside the riches it offers with such wanton abandon. One single less subscriber is insignificant, right?
Sure, but not to me. I’d been toying with the idea of ditching the platform for a while for one simple reason: on balance, it makes me miserable. Yes, I occasionally got a laugh from it, or came across something worth knowing about or celebrating. But those moments of levity were far outweighed by the crushing weight of impostor syndrome, exacerbated every time I went on and read about others’ achievements. Twitter was having a negative effect on my mental health and, truth be told, there are enough negative influences on that already without voluntarily adding to them!
Jealousy is an ugly emotion, I know, and I try my best not to succumb to it. But, in my opinion, boasting and bragging about your personal achievements to “the world” isn’t much better, and yet that’s de rigeur on Twitter. It honestly baffles me how we, as a society, have come to believe that everyone wants to know what we’re up to all the time. When it comes to my friends, I absolutely like to celebrate their successes with them. But I don’t do that on Twitter, and I couldn’t quite honestly give a hoot about strangers’ accomplishments.
The thought had crossed my mind that I was just being curmudgeonly and letting envy control my actions. But then I let a few friends know that I wasn’t on Twitter anymore because it made me feel inadequate and demoralised, and I was greeted with almost universal surprise but understanding. ‘Yep, the internet’s a cesspit’ and ‘Twitter is a hell hole’ were a couple of the cheery acknowledgements I received. It seems that others believe that Twitter is a grim necessity for advertising yourself or your product but would rather avoid the platform entirely.
I used to share that sentiment, but I’ve changed my mind. The best advert for my writing is surely doing it. Granted, sharing it may be harder without resorting to the quick-fix of flooding social media. Maybe when I have enough to actually shout about I’ll come slinking back. But, until then, I’m going to focus on writing my stories and treasuring my family. I won’t allow any manipulative corporate app to get in the way of that.