As dangerous as bloody heroin.
But I thought that I was immune from these silly habits.
I’m not very good with technology or social media.
Then again, I hate speaking on the phone. And I’m lonely.
I thought I liked being alone. Until I lived on my own. Then I quickly realized that liking being alone meant liking hanging out in a busy family home where I was never alone.
Through messaging you feel connected. You are distracted from the cold truth that we are born and die alone and that our minds are our private prisons forever.
It’s a brilliant invention. You can plan group meetups, send pictures privately, screenshot humourous or serious conversations to discuss with other friends, even play scrabble.
But when it comes to love…
On weekends we message in the morning to say hello and chat about our evenings. On weekdays we’ll touch base throughout the day, if not too busy at work. In the evenings we’ll catch up. When I’m bored I’ll message him. I’m often bored. When I’m sad I’ll message him. I’m often sad. If he doesn’t message in a few hours I’ll send him inane updates or question him on his whereabouts or his ideas on life.
On Messenger you can see when someone is online or the last time they were active online. So you know when someone is ignoring you. You also know when your ex is fucking someone else all night long.
Or you think you do and you have to send him messages asking who the whore is and hoping he uses contraception, while really he’s innocently heating up fish soup and his phone has simply rudely died.
I check to see when he was last online.
I refrain from messaging for as long as I can.
I send an unrestrained string of wise, witty messages to make sure he remembers how amusing (and insanely needy) I am.
I am allowed to be like this, of course, because I am pregnant and lonely and he is selfishly in Paris, sucking on French tits and smoking weed out his French windows. Since being pregnant I have let myself be beautifully needy. It is a true accomplishment.
But now I have decided that we can only ever be friends, because I cannot trust that he will come back. This means I must end this addiction. I must be content without messages from him. I must never check my phone. I turn off my active status so I can also never see when he was last active. I must detach.
I must detach.
I think I might be a little bit insane.
But aren’t we all?
I hope so.