But what is the answer?
I am having an internal debate with myself that err, I guess won’t be internal for long once I’ve finished this. The question is: shall I delete my Facebook account?
I bet I already know what you are going to say. I don’t give a shit Betty. Alright, geez. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to. If you want to read something else, read Baby Hopeful’s post on Facebook. She even did Twitter research (you might be able to guess which quote was from me, but you won’t win any prizes for it, sorry). I can relate to every single word, but I guess I will endeavour to make a hash of saying the same thing on here anyway.
I’ve technically already deleted my account once. I did it in January 2012. By then I was beginning to find out just how much of a state my insides were really in, I’d been trying to get pregnant for over a year and many, many, MANY of my friends, relatives and colleagues had just announced their pregnancies. Many of them quite clearly hadn’t been trying for long; many of them were onto second and third babies. I guess some of them must have struggled, but that’s not the kind of thing you boast about on Facebook is it? Oh no. Not on our glossy Fakebook lives, no siree!
Anyway, I was in a difficult place and I just deleted it. I think it meant that I lost touch with a few people, particularly university friends I didn’t see very often. At the time I didn’t give a rats ass but I’m not so sure now. Friends aren’t that easy to make are they?
I reactivated my account earlier this year when I finished my last job. I had lots of friends at work and since we were moving far far away, I didn’t want to lose touch with them all and I thought Facebook would be the easiest way to keep in touch. I haven’t really used it much, I’ve just sent the odd direct message and commented on a few photos, yet I have noticed A Strange Phenomenon. Curiously, even though I barely use Fakebook I seem to open it at least once a day, and I can’t remember a day that I looked at my newsfeed and didn’t feel annoyed. Is this the behaviour of a sane person? Do I do anything else every single day at least once that pisses me off and leaves me angry, resentful and burning with puerile fury? No, obviously. Fakebook is my kryptonite, apart from unlike Superman I appear to be addicted to the stuff like some kind of masochist.
I am boring myself with this debate now. Let’s have the summary arguments:
1. It makes it easy to keep in touch with people when it would otherwise be slightly more difficult to do so.
2. If I was a nicer person, I would enjoy looking at pictures of my friend’s holidays, kids etc and feel more involved in their lives.
3. (Main Reason): you can show off about your own life.
1. Fakebook brings out the gloating smug in even the best people I know.
2. The most annoying of these people appear to have crap else to do all day so are concentrating on updating their smug all of the time.
3. Pregnancy announcements. To any infertile, these hurt. You get the cryptic smugs, “Well, everyone else is doing it so thought I’d better join in…!!”, the formal smugs, “Mr Boring Bags and I are delighted to announce that we are expecting a new addition to our Boring Family in October!” and the why-use-words-when-I-can-post-a-scan-picture smugs.
4. Pictures of babies all lined up in a line, or a circle, or pictures of babies covered in food. Seen one, seen them all. Wasn’t naffed about it the first time.
5. This might just be me, but I get a lot of status updates with incredibly far-fetched yet endearing stories about what people’s children have said/done. I guess there is an iota of truth to some of them, but I very much doubt most of them actually happened like they said they did. Just another light hearted, life affirming anecdote about my beautiful life and perfect children.
To me, Facebook really is Fakebook. It is an outlet for people to create a fake, glossy, happy, shiny version of their lives that they want other people to be jealous of. You can edit your life, and have your imaginary little rose-tinted version validated by all your ‘friends’ who clamber over themselves to congratulate you on your family’s perfectness.
This is beginning to take a turn for the bitter, so I think I should wrap it up. Maybe I will remain pregnant and be able to upload a puke fest fake version of my life online. Maybe if I have a child of my own I won’t interpret every single status update and photograph as if they are screaming, “LOOK AT ME! I AM BETTER THAN YOU.”
Maybe, but I guess I won’t have the chance because I have made my decision.
Sayonara Facebook, can’t say I will miss you.