Life Without Instagram

Yesterday, when I tried to like something on Instagram, I got a little boxed message that said I could not take that action. No reason and no means of further discussion. I pretended it was just a glitch, but the box meant business.

I went to google why this had happened and learned that it usually meant they thought I was a spammer or a bot or some other kind of menace. But why? Apparently, if you leave the same comment too many times, it trips some algorithm.

Did I write “LOVE!” too many times?? That’s my typical comment, along with “Beautiful” and “Gorgeous.” That’s probably because I only follow photographers, stylists, tattooers, designers, models and jewelers. And I like to be supportive.

Occasionally, if it’s a really cute guy with long earrings and tight leggings, I comment “TOO HOT FOR ME!” with some little flame emojis. Is that so wrong??

Fucking Instagram.

Why am I even there? Why do I scroll through it incessantly, even when I’m watching TV? What is so addicting about my feed? Besides my effort to avoid having thoughts, is it a desire to be liked? Do I “like” stuff in order to be liked back or to indicate that I’m a really nice person? I truly have no idea. I know it’s something about occasional rewards that causes and maintains addictive behavior.

I didn’t think of Instagram as a negative entity like Twitter, which is just a rage-and-hatred recycling machine, but clearly it is not a plus in my life. My sense of anxiety and discomfort at being locked out is proof enough.

What if I could give up Instagram! All those hours could be applied to something else. Theoretically. Maybe I would actually read the things I have bookmarked, all those essays about serious matters like “Gen Z Shopping Habits” or  “Rumination: An overview.” Maybe I could at least put my phone down.

I plan to write more, because it forces me to organize the few thoughts I still have. It may also help with my waning word retrieval function, which caused a ten minute blockage of the word cucumber when I tried to remember what a pre-pickle is called.

Would you like to help out while you’re sequestered at home, wondering where to find bread or chicken? You can either help me figure out how to get right with Instagram, or suggest topics to write about.

Thanks! LOVE! BEAUTIFUL! TOO HOT FOR ME! (flame emoji flame emoji flame emoji)