Photo by Dr. Robert M. Rogers
The great thing about doing push-ups was that I could power through them no matter how depressed I was.
Trying to write something creative and/or witty every day is hard to power through.
With push-ups, and the accompanying Instagram post, I could get some likes and praise to satisfy my insanity, for doing just a few minutes work. This had the unexpected benefit of freeing me from my inner cynic for the day, which allowed me to get some actual stuff done.
With blog posting, I have to silence the inner cynic before I get a word typed, and then be creative and/or witty in under an hour. The benefit of the blog posting is that most people will not read it. Some people will read it, yes, but most people will just like the photo without even knowing there’s a blog post. I might be able to check Google Analytics and see how many visitors I had that day, but the immediate satisfaction of “Facehook” praise is incomparable.
I am not proud of this.
If I just posted this as a status update, I would be giving FB a lot of data to mine for free, but I would get almost immediate feedback, good or bad, but mostly good. I mean I was doing push-ups and spreading awareness about #depression and #suicide, which was better than posting how much I hate my life. Pity likes are not as good as genuine likes. But they’ll do in a pinch. Which is sad.
With my blog, it’s so outdated that people probably can’t even read it on their phones, and most people will just like the photo which is probably someone else’s photo that I altered to look more emo-documentary-esque. I’m exposing my melancholy anecdotes, but it’s not as easy to comment on the website as it is on FB, so I have freedom in the knowledge that I’ll never really know who reads it.
The immediate gratification of FB is truly addicting, especially for those who suffer from anxiety and depression. Unless you get a bad comment, or no likes, which can spiral me down the self-doubt vortex.
I have met some really incredible people on FB, that I would never have met otherwise, like Perez-Galloway Family, and the multitude of classmates and miscellaneous acquaintances I’ve collected over the last decade, but I’ve also isolated myself in my mother’s attic where I can hoard and check-out of life in relative peace and quiet.
Ok, times up. More tomorrow.
Barf.