I’ve outgrown the social media network. What it always represented for me, at least.
I tweeted five times yesterday. Five.
I don’t live on the Internet like I used to. It felt like I did though. I’ve missed concerts because of Twitter. Adjusted my work schedule around Twitter. For a damn app.
But I started to walk away from it all when life preceded to walk away from me. I lost love ones, lost apartments, lost loves, lost my sanity. In the moment of self destruction, the app meant nothing to me. Then came people who reminded me that I was someone, who gave me the space to remember my own personhood. Then God took over.
Giving yourself over to Christ means walking away from all the things that are the antithesis of what that means. Even if they aren’t bad things per se, they may be bad for you. They may reignite aspects about you that no longer represent who you are. They may trigger a walk backwards.
And Twitter is my gateway drug.
In my heart, I think God gave me the community I have now to battle what those other communities meant — and did — to me.
I have community now, in the flesh. As much as I may dread the lack of invisibility, I belong to a group of people that aren’t avatars and likes/retweets. People who I can depend on. And while the Internet always provided me with such, it was really in response to the lack of the “real thing” that I now have. Which doesn’t jive with who the Internet has always known for me to be. So something had the give and I knew who would be the last community standing.
I don’t say this as a dig to what Internet communities have meant to me. But I said that as someone who — from their teens — struggled to fit in. Who felt alone even though she went to football games, went to dances and had some semblance of a social life. But it was never the life I thought I should have. It was never the life where I felt like I mattered. I still felt invisible. I still felt undesirable. I still felt like a walking pity party, a nuisance. I felt wack.
And the Internet allowed for me to create the Ciara I always thought I wanted to be. Or who I thought I should be.
I’ve been a part of varying internet communities. From the early message boards and Yahoo! Groups for B2K to the now infamous comment section of Nah Right, my shelf-life on the Internet is damn near expired. I’ve seen it all, been part of it all. I’ve made friends from those communities, dated people from those communities (more than I should have, to be real). So on base, I’ve outgrown a lot of this. And I don’t even recognize the person within those communities too.
I lied a lot. I fronted a lot. And no one not from the fiberglass-assisted ecosystem knew anything about it. And I would cringe when they would. Embarrassed, even.
So I walked with the meanest switch of contradiction. But change — or rather when you finally listen to your heart — is when you realize that you can longer continue living that way. I give God credit for this: knowing God will make you gain an unmatched sense of honesty and self-awareness about yourself. A whole ‘lot of “that ain’t you, Sis.”
I cringe when I see someone on Twitter tweet for attention. Because I did it. It’s like “be yourself, fam!” but when you know that yourself ain’t poppin’ nowhere else, what do you have to lose?
Dignity. We do crazy things to fit in.
So in a change to regain that for me, I decided that I need to rid myself of the one aspect of my life that ultimately doesn’t matter to me anymore. I don’t need it for self-esteem anymore. I don’t need it for a false sense of power and control. I don’t need it for what I craved for it to do in the past. And while I could keep it around for the moment when it matters (who doesn’t love a good live-tweet?!) — and when, on rare occasions, it goes something good, the bad outweighs all of that for me.
So I have to say deuces. You won’t miss me. I promise.