Sixteen months ago I quit social media. Except, I didn’t completely quit. Instead, I ceased being active. I no longer posted content, I no longer shared images. I deleted the apps from my smartphone. I deactivated my accounts. But, I didn’t delete them. It wasn’t for fear of missing out. There was little to miss out on, except for a few wonderful photographers on Instagram that I followed. Since that time my reason for visiting Facebook and Instagram was simply as a diversion. In need of a break from writing? Let’s see what crap is on Facebook. In the sixteen months since that crap has got worse, which is saying something. Fake news, fake accounts, hacked accounts, fake (AI) photos, it doesn’t end. The final straw this morning was a post that attributed a completely false action to someone. The who and what isn’t important. It got me mad, at myself more than anything. It had me asking, why the hell am I still out here? Sticking needles in my eyes would be more productive.
Make no mistake, Facebook is a cesspool. We all know it. So, today I finally mustered the courage to delete my accounts. As anyone who has deleted their account can attest, it’s not easy to do. The action is buried deep in the bowels of Facebook. After some Googling, I was able to figure it out. I discovered the deletion of one’s account(s) is not immediate. Instead, I received an email stating that Facebook would start deleting my account in 30 days, a waiting period no doubt conjured by the nefarious minds at Meta designed for us to change our minds. It ain’t happening. I’m done. Come July 17, 2024, I begin my post-Facebook life. It will be much the same as before, only with a lot less shit in it.
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