24: Facebook Makes Me Feel Codependent

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If I had a dollar for every time someone told me, “If it weren’t for work I’d never be on Facebook,”

I’d have 79 cents for every dollar because I’m a white woman

and not a white man.

But wait, Joe Blow from

Tacoma, Washington, thinks the gender pay gap is a dangerous myth,

or maybe he’s a she-spy from Russia sent to inject doubt like a steroid, doped-up needle in muscle.

A doctor once tried to get codependency listed in the DSM as a personality disorder

but more doctors don’t see it as a negative trait because it’s helpful

sometimes for families.

The doctor argued

that “when specific personality traits become excessive” they can

cause “significant impairment in functioning” or cause “significant distress,” according to Wiki.

Don’t believe that stuff, they tell us. It should just be the start of where you find your sources of information,

but who really spends the time digging for more when there are videos to like?

Yeah no me either.

But oh yes sometimes.

Here are the criteria that must be present for codependency:

Self-esteem derived from controlling others; boundary distortions; assumed responsibility for others.

And most importantly, “enmeshment” in relationships with other codependent people, aka

social media users, friends, likes, retweets, loves — are these people to you

or validation?

It’s OK if so.

Hashtag me too and I believe you and I am frustrated I delete

things that don’t get “enough” likes in a certain timeframe and I hate how much an algorithm controls me.

Did you know that a member of the team that created the Facebook “like” button now pays someone else to

monitor her Facebook page while Silicon Valley types send their kids to

schools where smartphones are

banned? But you’re hooked too

late and addicted by design. Doesn’t Facebook information

make Wikipedia look like Britannica? She doesn’t want to use the thing she designed.

They profit from me

and my habit, which just wasted 15 minutes of my morning

because I looked through all my own photos wondering how someone else in particular might look at them.

It makes imagining what might have been, seeing myself in another life, too easy, seem possible, while at the same time,

it makes putting myself in someone else’s shoes too

hard. We’re not alike.

So then I get mad

at the people sharing only half the story, because global warming is

real, and at drag queens who profit from emulating powerful women but make fun of the basic ones.

Through a meme that’s mean

or a comment that has nothing to do with moving the conversation.

It all makes me feel much more powerful than I really am but at the same time, completely powerless.

Exposed. Perfect or

trying to be. So when something real happens, I don’t even process it,

I just think of ways to write about it on Facebook, to the point that I have backlogs of shit to work through.

But who has the time when you have starving animals and beaten children to worry about fixing and saving?

Or people to scoff at for posting cryptic messages, so obvious

the desperation.

 

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