(cw: a lot of f*cking swearing)
Well, what the fuck are you doing with your life? I’m writing this at midnight because I can’t sleep and I have to be up at 7am to pick up a van to start my move. What am I doing with my life?
Right now, I should be asleep but I’m not. I’ve taken a week away from the internet this week. It’s been great. I did it because I saw a post on Instagram by someone (who I don’t fucking know) commenting on something wank and crass as per usual and (as per usual) I let it majorly affect me. I acted like this person had marched up to my front door, broke all social distancing guidelines, stomped into my front room and screamed it in my face.
It enraged me. I stayed enraged for days. Then I realised. Get the fuck off this app. It was that fucking simple. Over the last few weeks I’ve spent hours, I mean hours, a day trawling Instagram. Comparing myself to every girl, gay and they. Why am I not like them? I should be doing that! Fuck. Why haven’t I achieved anything?
Fucking no. I’m not here for that kind of shit. Social media is a great tool, don’t get me wrong. Some utilise in a way that supports their livelihoods. People have secured book deals off the back of it. People have achieved celebrity status from it. Some people have even enacted change through it.
None of those people are me and I am none of those people. I also get so bogged down in doomscrolling Twitter, seeing the horrific transphobic, bigoted, racist, homophobic (and the rest) opinions of cretins. I think ‘what is even the point?’ I constantly edit myself because I’m worried about the backlash. Honestly. I’ve seen the pile-ons happen to people for innocuous tweets. For harmless opinions. God forbid anyone was to have an opinion on that app. RIP your notifications. I’ve had abuse from tweeting about Gameshows. GAMESHOWS.
I hate it.
Back to the question I’m asking: What am I doing with my life? Well. Coronavirus obliterated my career. I decided (on a whim) to start a blog. I’m 30 years old. Single. Childless. Jobless. Majority of this I am absolutely a-okay with, thank you very much. However! How-ever. There is something bugging me. I’m staying home. I’m staying safe. I’m applying to jobs left right and centre. One place actually got back to me today saying they had 1879 applicants for 5 interview slots. It’s rough right now.
Thing is, all I can control is right now. I don’t know what the future is going to hold. I can plan, I can propose, I can ‘manifest’ like a true millennial. I cannot control. So what do I want? I want to write. That’s it. I don’t want to be a social media mogul, so why am I comparing myself to these people? Why am I spending more time on social media than on my writing? The instant gratification of the likes, follows, saves? Do I love to torture myself with what I ‘should be’..?
Fuck knows. However this week away has given me a better perspective. I want to be a writer. I want to bird-watch (yes and I’ve seen 7 different types just this week). I want to play countdown at lunchtime (got an 8 letter word this week, ‘PROUDEST’ and it was my proudest moment). I want to read. Right now, my ‘to be read’ pile of books is just getting taller as I scroll TikTok till the stupid hours of the morning.
I want to expand my feminist theory. I want to read other peoples stories of alcoholism. I want to be able to confidently debate politics – and not just at a 280 character limit. I want to write blog posts, essays, articles, hell even a book one day. Really getting my millennial manifest going right now.
I dream to help causes I care deeply about, not just share some infographic about it and pat myself on the back. That’s performative. Stop that shit, Meg. You can’t help all the causes as well. Pick a few and go hell for leather on those. If you try and do everything you’ll end up doing nothing.
Think about what you want to do with your life. If that’s too consuming. Think about what you want to do with your day. Aim to do one thing a day that will move you forwards and not backwards. If it’s causing self-loathing, or self-doubt. Don’t bloody do it anymore.
I’m an addict, right? I’m recently in recovery. It’s very easy for me right now to substitute one addiction with another. Ping! Those lovely red notifications are a lovely short term hit. I think I’m doing so well because I don’t have push notifications on. However, when I open the app there they are. That lovely number with it’s devilish red background. Ping Ping Ping. My brain is loving it.
I honestly feel like I’ve drop kicked my personality into oblivion and tried to fit this weird fucking mold I’ve created for myself. Toxic positivity and love and hearts and save the fucking world. All trotted out for those fucking likes.
Now, I am not some born-again-holier-than-social-media-madonna or whatever. I’m just realigning my relationship to the apps. I’ll post when something is worth posting. I won’t when I don’t want to. I’ll read more. I’ll definitely play a lot more ‘words with friends’ – I love that shit. Do you play? Send me your username, let’s game.
I’m gonna stop posting for ‘the audience’ (let’s be honest it’s ‘the likes’). I’m gonna post as myself. Swear-y, dry, opinionated, foolish, imperfect. God forbid I upset someone. Jeez. You can’t please everyone. Don’t actively try and hurt people obviously but not everyone is going to agree with you. Don’t believe me? Post any opinion on twitter and you’ll see. Karen435934 will not agree ‘that the price of a potato is 17p’ since she ‘definitely saw them in morrisons at 19p yesterday, you fucking communist.’
So what are you doing with your life? Who fucking cares! Honestly. No one gives a shit except you. Read that again. Have your opinions! Share them! The block button exits for a reason. Hell, I’ve even blocked people who just simply annoy me. I don’t care! You know what, neither do they! I’ve used way too many exclamation points in this blog post! Who! Gives! A! Fuck!
If you made it this far, thank you for reading my late night rage shit-post. I hate everything at the moment, you may be able to tell. My period might be due. I try to track it, but it has a life of its own and leaves many a trashed piece of underwear in its wake.
Oh yeah, Happy Valentine’s Day.