It feels like a free-fall, an uncoupling like none I’ve ever experienced before. My emotions run the gambit from intense anxiety to depression and everything in between. I’m alternately angry and sad. Something is missing. I’m missing, and it’s all because of Facebook.
Three days ago I received an error message on my phone when I clicked on my Facebook shortcut. Instead of getting the news feed, I read “your account has been locked.”
Oh no, how can this be? The last thing I did before going to bed the night before was to check for new postings by my “friends” and group newslinks. Now that door was slammed shut. Now I was cut off, alone, and missing out on all the cool stuff I’d been viewing for years.
I couldn’t believe my eyes as I tried to log in. I kept getting that locked-out message and was being directed to register. That didn’t seem right. Maybe my phone had been hacked, and the hacker was trying to go deeper into my online accounts by tricking me to register. I wasn’t falling for that.
I immediately reached out to my tech-support guru, my granddaughter. After explaining via text – we don’t talk much on the phone, we text – what the problem was, she asked if my laptop was the same way.
Yes, the laptop had the same error message. “I’m not sure what it can be,” she replied. This would require her physical presence but with working two jobs, well really 2.5, her time is a valuable commodity. She assured me she wouldn’t forget I needed help but couldn’t pin down a day and time at the moment. I understand.
This isn’t life or death, this is Facebook. But the loss of the social-media platform has left me feeling very alone. My already quiet life is now close to silent. Yes, I work and talk to people, yes I go to Zumba classes and see acquaintances, share a laugh, get a hug. But Facebook had become my cozy blanket in the storms of life, my connection to others on this blue planet.
These friend connections have become really important to the social fabric of my existence. I need those pictures and videos of other people’s grandchildren doing cute things, silly pets, especially cats, responding to the world in hysterical ways. Those laugh-out-loud moments are now gone.
Also gone and sorely missed are the virtual relationships I was able to establish and maintain with cousins I’ve never met in real life but now know so well. I’m missing those uplifting quotes from former colleagues, who once challenged my every professional decision but now count me in as a friend. Once I was on the inside, but now I’m on the outside and I can’t even look in a little bit. Locked out of this expanding universe of virtual humanity, I feel my life has become less somehow.
With time now on my hands because I can’t spend it on Facebook, I’ve come to realize how addicting social media can be. I’m addicted and so I’m contemplating, “do I really need to spend what little life I have left on this side of the grass on Facebook?!”
I’ve also come to realize that all the generations who have grown up with a cell phone in their hand may one day go through withdrawal. I’m handling my withdrawal fairly well. I mean, I’m not dashing around trying to reconnect. I’m simply standing by, waiting for help. In the meantime, I’m assessing what is really important at this stage in my life. Facebook withdrawal will do that to you.
But what about those young people who can’t seem to get from one moment to the next without looking at their cell-phone screens. What about those preteens and teens who have never been without their phones except possibly when being punished for a few hours. “Give me your phone right now! No phone for you.” How did parents discipline their kids before this invention? I forget what the world was like before portable phones, oops, cell phones.
Beyond the impact of 24-7-365 communication with peers, our younger populations are viewing the world through the lens of other young people. They copy each other’s clothing, hair, make-up and manner of speaking after seeing what others consider important, not what in reality should be important. And when cut off electronically, they must feel 100 times worse than I do now. Their mental well-being is being challenged daily by what they see on social-media platforms. Have these kids been given the emotional tools to survive without virtual conductivity? I think not. Maybe I don’t either.
We are all addicted. None of us goes anywhere, not even the bathroom, without a cell phone close at hand. My husband and I joke about life before cell phones and the first portable phone we purchased that was nearly the size of a shoe box. Little did we know then how totally dependent we’d become on technology.
No technology, no Facebook, no friends. Humans need to feel included. We seek it, long for it, thrive because of it. Absent my Facebook account, who am I?
I think the time has come for me to reestablish my identity as a living, breathing person who calls people on the phone rather than checks their Facebook page or follows their postings. I’ll call up and say, “Hi Friend, just called to say hello and see how you are doing.” Will they feel my smile? Will they be glad they answered the phone rather than letting it go to voicemail? Or will the first words out of their mouth be, “Didn’t you see the family picture I posted on Facebook?”
By Marilou Newell