Facebook | pen, paper, and crazy

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 am going to attempt some humor now. I know I am not usually of that persuasion. I’m trying to be more positive lately.)

I am struck by the hell-beast known as insomnia about 3-4 times a week on average- which I think is rather normal (or even low) for someone dealing with mental-health and depression issues.

However, normally this hell-beast simply takes a nibble from me and then departs to the greener pastures of musicians, emo-poets, addicted gamers, and computer programmers.

Tonight, however, the hell-beast has decided I shall provide a full 8, 9, perhaps even 10 course meal.
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10:03pm: I arrive home from my lovely night with Texas and chat briefly with Shadow Dragon about our days. Let Zoe out so she can sniff a lot of things, run around, stand around, and then finally decided “Oh yeah! I have to pee!”. She then proceeds to drink a gallon of water.

10:50pm: Settle down in my bedroom, write a post about my night because, gosh darn it, I am turning over a new leaf and will not have a negative post at the top of my homepage any longer. Starting texting with Army about our crazy days.
Check Facebook.
Zoe starts being slightly bothersome, then obnoxious, slowly escalating into full blown bugging-the-shit-outta-me. I realize she has to pee that gallon she drank.

11:00pm: Go outside with Zoe to make sure she won’t bark and piss off the neighbors. Bring phone with me, continuing my banter-fest with Army. We are joking about me getting a tattoo that’s insulting to Obama (he’s conservative- but my opinion isn’t necessary the same) on my butt so he can have obscenely hilarious sexual antics.
I watch Zoe walk around the yard, bring me her stuffed hedgehog, then run in circles for a bit before deciding to pee. We go back inside and I firmly tell she isn’t going out again because “Mommy has to sleep, dangit.”
Ha.

11:30pm: Technically I haven’t turned off the netbook and attempted to lay down, but I don’t feel my normal drowsy. Check Facebook. Check a couple blogs I follow. Comment here and there. Continue snark-fest with Army via text. Our conversation is occasionally stalled by him completing a run (he’s on shift with the ambulance company he works for). He is complimenting me on my ability to actually get him to laugh verbally. Apparently insomnia makes me semi-funny.

12:15pm: Check Facebook. Not as many insomniac friends on as I’d hoped. Start a game of crossword puzzle on my phone. Find a couple obvious ones before determining that words are stupid. Start looking at trashy websites such as TextsFromLastNight. Check Facebook.
Meanwhile, since my light is still on, Zoe is attempting to be cute by rolling on my netbook’s keyboard and gnawing on my toes. After the fourth or fifth gnawing, I push her off the bed (lovingly, of course).

1:00pm: By this time I am truly frustrated. It occurs to me however, that I have not turned anything off. Of course! That is the problem. I check Facebook before I turn off my light and shut down my netbook.
I lay on my pillow.
I can hear my hair scratching as I breath in and out. I adjust to a different pillow. Nope…still scratching. Very loudly.
I contemplate hunting down the creators of my pillowcase, which is supposed to be soft and silky, and ask them why the heck is my hair scratching SO FREAKIN’ LOUDLY ON IT??
Realize I have a dog.
Call Zoe up on the bed. She dutifully responds, but doesn’t want to be interesting. Instead she curls up against my side adorably and grunts grumpily when I try to pet or reach her belly for a rub. I give up.
I grab my phone and check Facebook before opening up the crossword puzzle again. I solve it and it informs me that it only took me 2139 seconds (my best time being 232). I do not click “New Game”.
Roll around a bit. Zoe decides to hop back down on the floor.
Check my phone to see if Army has texted back. Nope. Must be a long run this time.

1:45pm: Decide that maybe I have to pee. Get up and use bathroom. Return to bedroom and sit dejectedly before deciding “To hell with it” and turning the netbook back on.
Check Facebook. Check WordPress.
Notice there’s an update from Becca over and LadyorNot! Yay! Read it.

1:55pm: Well. That didn’t take long. It did make me laugh though, which is good. Decide to comment when less insomnia-inebriated. Although…Army did comment that I seem to be amusing so sleep deprived.

1:57pm: Decide to write a post about my insomnia issues. Hope it will be semi-amusing. Check Facebook.

2:00pm: Write post in between texting Army. And checking Facebook. Wonder briefly if I have a problem. Decide I just really care about my friends and family. And it’s not like I’m doing anything besides skimming the main news feed. I mean, if I were truly addicted I would be looking up specific people’s profiles, wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t I??
…check Grey’s page specifically to see how he’s been doing since we haven’t gotten a text in a couple days.
He seems fine- innocuous update about his laptop finally getting fixed from earlier this evening. When normal people are awake.
Wonder if there’s anyone else we could text at this hour. Nope. Army is pretty much the only other nightowl who will accept non-emergency middle-of-the-night texts without being mad about being “woken up” or something.

2:20pm: Oh yeah, I was writing a post.

2:36pm: Finish up post. Check Facebook one more time.

2:40pm: Hope doing this will somehow get rid of the insomnia hell-beast….

2:45pm: Laugh waaaaay to hard at this picture: