online overload
One day at a time: A social networking addict's tale of recovery
Oct 22, 2011 | 10:20 am
Hi, my name is Megan, and I’m a social networking addict.
Do you remember what life was like before pokes, tweets, uploads and (un)tagging dominated our daily existence? Try to think back to the days where you picked up your cellphone to dial a friend’s number in hopes of hearing a human voice instead of loading an application to get the haps from 700 of your closest strangers.
It was a lot harder for me to imagine than I thought it would be.
I can recall, years ago, scoffing at friends who refused to join the myriad of social networking sites, thinking they were so two-thousand-and-late. I mean, who could possibly be that out of touch with technology that they would choose to deny sharing every waking moment with the world?
But recently I experienced a pretty dramatic perspective shift when I realized how entwined I had become in this web of social networking addiction. My sense of validation seemed to be dictated by a tiny blue thumbs-up icon rather than from human interaction. I found that asking my co-workers about their weekend on Monday mornings at the office proved to be completely unnecessary, as I had been previously alerted to every place they stepped foot into, every person they were with, every situation demanding a photo upload and every song they listened to on Spotify since the 5 o’clock closing bell rang on Friday afternoon.
I suddenly became acutely aware of my emotional reactions when logging on and seeing buddies checked into a bar without inviting me, or seeing a boy I was semi-interested in comment on his ex-girlfriend’s status, or noticing my girlfriends exchange posts on each others’ walls without reciprocating on mine. Granted, I’m admittedly an oversensitive person by fault, but I couldn’t help but notice I felt overwhelmingly rejected by any lack of inclusion I subconciously observed while trolling these sites.
It was a lot harder for me to imagine than I thought it would be.
I can recall, years ago, scoffing at friends who refused to join the myriad of social networking sites, thinking they were so two-thousand-and-late. I mean, who could possibly be that out of touch with technology that they would choose to deny sharing every waking moment with the world?
But recently I experienced a pretty dramatic perspective shift when I realized how entwined I had become in this web of social networking addiction. My sense of validation seemed to be dictated by a tiny blue thumbs-up icon rather than from human interaction. I found that asking my co-workers about their weekend on Monday mornings at the office proved to be completely unnecessary, as I had been previously alerted to every place they stepped foot into, every person they were with, every situation demanding a photo upload and every song they listened to on Spotify since the 5 o’clock closing bell rang on Friday afternoon.
I suddenly became acutely aware of my emotional reactions when logging on and seeing buddies checked into a bar without inviting me, or seeing a boy I was semi-interested in comment on his ex-girlfriend’s status, or noticing my girlfriends exchange posts on each others’ walls without reciprocating on mine. Granted, I’m admittedly an oversensitive person by fault, but I couldn’t help but notice I felt overwhelmingly rejected by any lack of inclusion I subconciously observed while trolling these sites.
And where did this need for my self-promotion come from? Why was I feeling the need to constantly post news stories out of minutia? Checking in to the gym in the wee hours of the morning, promptly uploading pics from a night out and commenting on Matt Lauer’s witty banter on The Today Show all seemed important enough that I needed to share with my list of 1100 friends and followers. Why did I think these people were interested in knowing every waking thought entering my brain? And on the flip side, why did I need to know about theirs?
This was crazy—I’m a successful, smart, logical adult. Where was this social pressure coming from? I needed to snap out of it and inhale fresh air from the reality I knew before social networking monopolized my time. I dreamt of a morning where I could roll out of bed without immediately grasping for my phone to check status updates.
At first, it seemed impossible to distance myself from this world. I prayed Charlie Sheen would continue his streak of good behavior and open a rehab clinic for everyone from alcoholics to people filled with tigers blood and Adonis DNA on down to us social networking addicts. Or that the upcoming season of Celebrity Rehab would expand its casting call to plebian like me suffering from an addiction unrelated to illegal narcotics or Vicodin.
Thankfully shakes and other withdrawal symptoms did not surface, but I slowly realized I could indeed survive without constantly mining for updates from my friends. I deleted the apps from my phone and signficantly decreased my time spent pouring over the sites.
Immediately I felt huge waves of relief crash over me. The feelings of rejection I previously experienced vanished. I even found myself now picking up the phone to talk to my friends and hear updates on their lives sans photo tags, likes, or #hashtags.
I must say, life as a recovering social networking addict isn't easy. Firing up my shiny Macbook immediately triggers an instinct to type in a URL that just might take me back down a path of destruction. And trust me, it is everything in my power to refrain from grabbing my phone immediately upon arriving at a destination to check in.
But as they say, take it one day at a time.