I am what I scroll

Thing #12 of 50 Things at 50

In the dimness, an unnatural glow highlights a hooded figure hunched over the small rectangle casting the light. The figure is nearly motionless, except for one finger that repeatedly slides up the glassy surface of the rectangle. The glow shows a middle-aged face, exhausted and desperate for an elusive, quite possibly delusional, time of mental rest. The forehead between the eyebrows gradually constricts, while the corners of the mouth creep downward. Once again, trying to conjure up some kind of personal peace after a long day of overthinking, overwhelm, and overstimulation has been corrupted by a long string of posts on current events, people’s takes on current events, sarcastic memes and screenshots of provocative statements on current events, advertisements for miraculous side hustle goldmine courses, and reels of cringey AI content with no context.

This is the roulette of Revenge Bedtime Procrastination (RBP), and I usually lose to the spin.

In the last couple of years, RBP has often been augmented by late insomnia triggered by my bladder, then picked up by my brain. At that point, doomscrolling in a dark bathroom goes on long enough that I suddenly realize my legs have gone numb. This phenomenon is called toilet leg (no, really, it is). My sciatic nerve must love me.

I am a glutton for punishment, and I must consume the feeds of social media.

Photo by Pineapple Supply Co. on Unsplash

HERE WE GO LOOPTY LOO

It’s not just late at night or early in the morning when I am susceptible to the immediate distractions my phone provides. Nor is it just instant brain rot from the media I mindlessly reach for: my other two vices are food and shopping. I live to consume.

Pick a cause for my escapism: Dopamine chasing because my ADHD-wired brain constantly runs low. I’m avoiding something I feel I can’t handle right now. I’m bored, lonely, anxious. I’m trying to subconsciously process a solution for a project.

The cause varies, but the effects rarely do. Consumption without contemplation leads to excess, and excess leads to overconsumption, and overconsumption leads to overload. And, in the words of the existential pilgrims Bono and The Edge, “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.” I’ve circled back on myself.

While Meta is an evil saboteur, Facebook actually comes in second to whatever game app that’s become my latest compulsive distraction. I’m seeking the feeling of productivity and completion - easy solutions, easy wins. There have been times when the graphics of the puzzle game I’m obsessively playing pop up visually in my dreams. I believe it was the cultural commentators Henley and Frey who said, “we are all just prisoners here of our own device[s].”

If media is predominantly a mental distraction, food is an emotional one. There’s a reason I’m obese. Actually, several reasons, with a history of food as a coping mechanism, the one sure comfort I could give myself since childhood, as one of the main ones. When you combine self-medication via pantry with low executive function in preparing meals, you get a habitual indulgence in convenience foods. Alas, I follow the guidance of the lifestyle guru Yankovic all too often: “Just eat it.”

Shopping brings the ephemeral happiness of accumulating things that I like, but also the longer-lasting financial consequences and chaos of clutter. Because, let’s face it, I like a lot of things. I have many fandoms, cute animal fixations, and delusions of crafty needs. I hoard books and Lego sets, but never seem to have the time to read or build. As the renowned sybarite Grande declared, “I see it, I like it, I want it, I got it.”

I THINK I HAVE SYSTEMIC IBS

The results of these diets of gratuitous gluts go deeper than the temporary need I’m trying to satiate. Sessions of letting my brain marinate in media usually also involve bludgeoning it with bad news, reactive opinions, and ridiculous slop. It’s been tenderized into pulp.

This pulp has digested content that includes cultures of comparison (see Thing #11), so that biotics of dissatisfaction grow. I have absorbed outrage and depression, shared information I didn’t fact-check, and felt sick over feeling powerless and afraid.

Worst of all, I have let anger and frustration dehumanize those whose beliefs differ from mine, especially when those beliefs have harmed me and others. Getting stuck in an echo chamber of noise that compounds my traumas, biases, shock and distress, and fear makes fighting this tendency a herculean effort. Consuming the comments section feels like wading into one of two bodies of water - the best and the worst of how we treat one another. Too frequently, the former feels like a kiddie pool and the latter like an ocean.

The hostility doesn’t stay online, though. I tend to have imaginary conversations (arguments) with people in my head; sometimes it helps me vent, but mostly it feels like perpetuating venomous narratives. I regurgitate what I’ve fed on into my non-online life. My mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual well-being is so easily poisoned.

And yet I go back for more.

NOURISHMENT, NOT NOISE

Because it’s not all bad. Careful consumption has expanded my horizons: exposed me to new perspectives and cultures, helped me heal from trauma, let me relax and feel understood, brought new friends and positive influences into my life, and kept me aware of my privilege and the work that still needs doing while reminding me I’m not alone.

I am an inveterate meme-hoarder. The gallery on my phone is lawless landscape of simple funny ones, sarcastic ones, and thought-provoking ones. Every now and then I curate a themed meme dump on Facebook, just to remind everyone of how unhinged I am. Recently, though, I have been trying to save ones that are positive, so that meme dump might remind those who see it that Samwise was right, and “that there’s some good in the world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.”

Not all content is social media, of course. As a child, I had a long list of comfort reads - books I’d read over and over. Anne Shirley and Mary Lennox were my friends. I was the invisible tenth member of the Fellowship, and sailed on the Dawn Treader with Lucy, Edmund, and Eustace. I longed for a mysterious package to arrive in my room so I, too, could build and use the Phantom Tollbooth. These books calmed and consoled a lonely, weird kid. I learned more about interpersonal relationships and human nature visiting Prince Edward Island than I did in “real life.”

Movies, too. The nostalgia and fantasy of The Neverending Story, the humor and charm of The Princess Bride, and the irrepressible energy of Annie were safe for me. As an adult, P.S. I Love You never failed to cause the tears to flow whenever I needed a good cry, especially after my father died.

Nowadays, I’m discovering more thoughtful and well-curated content on Substack. My brain is usually grateful after catching up on one of my many subscriptions, though, here too, I need to be aware of the rants that might rile me up more than inspire me.

THE OUTRAGE INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX

Why is there an overabundance of that kind of content, anyway? Why do we love our hot takes and mic drops so much, even at the cost of creating greater division? We devour the sound bites, slogans, and cartoons that seem to neatly package our anger and indignation into a Reader’s Digest-able and shareable version of “so, there!” Even many of my most intelligent friends are susceptible to propaganda (and the other most intelligent ones are rarely, if ever, on social media… hmmm…). Our basic needs for safety, belonging, and worth, and our senses of justice and morality, become targets for those who would pull our strings.

The surge of biochemicals caused by strong emotions can be addictive. We use emotional intensity to feel alive, to experience a sense of power and control, to avoid other emotions, even to be entertained (hello, Fox News). Organized systems like politics and religion have been leveraging dopamine, fear, and belonging for centuries. Many of us have personal experience of this and are trying to deprogram ourselves. (Cue shameless plug for my workbook on healing from toxic religion.)

I think we need to be aware that a lot of content is like a super malevolent and effective pineapple: It’s delicious, but while you consume it, it’s consuming you. Your energy, time, and perception of reality. The most important question is, who’s serving the pineapple, and why?

INFORMED VS INFLAMED

Questioning others’ motives in generating and sharing content is good. Vibe checking ourselves is just as important. I’m trying to get better at asking myself these questions:

• Am I allowing nuance, or am I letting an issue be flattened?

• Is the rush of emotion I feel from this making me more volatile?

• What should I actually do with this content? And with myself after consuming it?

• What is being revealed about me from my reaction to this? Something I still need healing from, insecurities and fears I have, biases I have yet to unlearn, and so on?

I can’t avoid the news cycle while also trying to be a good citizen, but I can “drink responsibly” from the firehose of doom. And I can remember my original reason for being on social media in the first place: keeping up with loved ones and seeing into their world. I should let Facebook be connection-centered, not my primary source of information, or even entertainment.

YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME

I admire my friends who do digital detoxes or have even removed social media from their lives. I honestly don’t know how to balance a detox with the need to be on social media for my job. And, frankly, I don’t know if I’m up for going to Facebook rehab. And I won’t be going on a hunger strike or shopping boycott to cure myself anytime soon.

But I can take small steps and manage points of control, like seeking long-form articles from sources whose values include holding nuance and researching/verifying their information. Like identifying my top two overconsumption traps for my vices. (These are likely decision fatigue and transition gaps for media, overstimulation and executive dysfunction for food, and stress and boredom for shopping.) Then I can do things such as preplan snacks, budget a fun money allowance, set limits for idle time on my phone, seek intelligent and thoughtful debate, and have a personal system of checks and balances to pop those algorithmic filter bubbles.

The trick is practicing intention and form over having an all-or-nothing mindset. I can alter the intensity of my consumption habits rather than trying to eliminate them altogether. “Curate input, choose influences, protect attention” can be my new catchy slogan. (It is catchy, isn’t it?)

Consumption isn’t neutral. But it can be shaped instead of shaping us.

Not exactly a mic drop, but I’ll take it.