It’s kind of nice being a piece of shit. Every once in a while it feels to stoop to the occasion, give in to the easiest, worst part of you and abandon all sense of civility or social awareness. You have a bad day, you’re driving home, and you see a trash bin sitting just a liiiitle too far out in the street. Sometimes you want to hit that trash bin. Sometimes you do, for no other reason than you need to exorcise the spite that’s been building up since you got out of bed. I’ve definitely indulged in probably more than my fair share of a little maliciousness simply because it felt easier and gave a quicker satisfaction than doing the right thing or properly dealing with my emotions. Unfortunately though, I can’t really do that anymore. I’m twenty-eight, and I have neither the money nor the status to engage in general douchebaggery and have it go unaccounted for. Even online, being a piece of shit is creating real world consequences and as much as I know learning to be positive and dealing with my emotions and stressors in a healthy manner is the right thing to do, sometimes I miss being shitty on social media.
Once upon a time if I was having a bad day I’d just hop on one of my social medias and let it all out. I know where this came from. I’m an only child, I’m used to my problems being heard and solved and when I got old enough and my problems got big enough people stopped rushing to solve them, or they were too big to be solved right away, I didn’t handle it well. At all. I’d get online and misdirect my frustrations through a profanity fraught rant, an unsolicited confrontation with a stranger, or an uninformed commentary on a social event. The topic didn’t matter so long as I got to hammer nonsense onto the keyboard until my stress and anger subsided to exhaustion and solicitations of pity.
Surprisingly, this was a terrible way to deal with my emotions. I got none of the sympathy I was looking for because people thought I was just being an asshole. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t exactly view a five tweet thread detailing how the political other is willfully destroying the country to be a cry for help.
You can look back through my feed and see when I was at my worst. My posts are unhinged, malicious, spiteful, hateful, the complete opposite of the sort of reaction I hoped they would create. At my worst they were an addiction, a distraction from my reality and a way for me to misdirect deficiencies in my life. Oddly enough, some of my worst moments are when I would see people I hadn’t in a while, and they’d say “your Facebook posts, they’re pretty entertaining.” Hearing that was always so shameful. I didn’t want attention from them. I didn’t want them to be seen as entertainment. How could they be entertaining, they’re the worst I’ve ever put out, they’re embodiments of the worst of me. How could people be entertained by these, when there’s actual published work I’ve done that’s such a much better representation of me? I didn’t want people to be entertained, I wanted to them to say, “your Facebook posts, are you okay?” But they didn’t, so I just kept yelling into the internet.
I’m better now. I don’t fight with strangers, or accuse them of trying to kill half a nation of people just because their political opinion is different from mine. If something pisses me off I’ll type it out, then put the phone down and go play with the dog or just go be somewhere for 10mins. I do that about 5 times a day, and so far it works. I’ve yet to come back, read what I was so pissed off about, and decide I’m still mad enough to push send. If I rant I try to be funny, try to avoid profanity. But it’s hard. Sometimes I miss being shitty on social media because it was an addiction: an easy, immediately gratifying addiction that did nothing to help my emotions or the state I was in that gave me those emotions, it just felt good. Thankfully though, being healthy feels better.
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