Nothing like the past knock-knock-knocking on your door.
Knew I should have gotten a louder “fuck off” doorbell.
Thought I burned that bridge long ago and now find that there’s some sort of vine growing out of the wreckage and trying to curl itself around my neck.
I thought that scar was a faint white impression of the wound it once was. But there’s some scab left to be picked.
It’s simple words on a screen that lend power to the climbing foliage. To pick at the surface of skin.
I have only myself to blame.
For many months I’ve debated on deactivating my Facebook account. Honestly, if there was a way I could simply use the messenger and not anything else, I would more likely do it. It’s the messenger I don’t want to part with. The main way I communicate with friends I’m not physically close to (like ones I know through this community!).
Today while updating my profile picture to something a bit more festive, I somehow accidentally caused my timeline to switch to 2006.
I should have immediately closed out.
A sane person would.
This jigsawed brain made the decision to continue scrolling. Scrolling through a smattering of words from a period of my life I’d long tried to purge from my being.
Words include lame jokes with friends. Basic life updates about school and work.
And posts from Her.
I have moved multiple times since my 5 year relationship with Katherine, but it still haunts me. Almost daily. I love my current house. So very much.
And yet at night my dreams are permeated with the rooms I lived in with Her. The house I lived at with Her. There is no rhyme or reason.
I barely dream of my current partner at all. I don’t understand this flawed thinking at all.
And now it isn’t even just my subconscious.
I don’t understand why I scrolled. Why I took that screenshot. Why I saved it. Why I include it in this post.
Social media is a toxin. A dangerously addictive substance beyond heroin, meth, or alcohol. It speaks sweetly and dresses up flawlessly. But behind those honeyed words and slick threads is a sinister hole of festering stink.
And I don’t even mean the vindictive way they use profiles for marketing. Note your interests. Or track “trending” topics.
I mean how it harbors a storage of memories you didn’t even know still remained. Memories to be purged. You recklessly thought you’d never have to see again.
A simple click.
Words across a page.
I’m keeping my “2006” on purpose. I don’t look at it, but I know I will be able to… when I’m ready. Happy Holidays (:
((hugs)) I am avoiding looking back on mine and, honestly, pretty much looking at everyone else’s through the end of the year. my holiday “I hate social media” fast.
That sounds hard. I’m sorry. I totally understand about not being able to stop yourself. I don’t facebook. It would not be good for me .
Good and healing thoughts to you.
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