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Don’t help me!

I’m Addicted to Twitter and I Hate Myself For It

It really sucks to be addicted to something that is becoming increasing hostile. I can’t scroll past anything without wincing from the sharp bites of triggers. There’s always something to be hung up about and lately the stakes are too high.

Sexual offenders are being rounded up by the dozens — and with each capture comes the harrowing details that are stunning to assess. There’s no consideration for victims that don’t have stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame — it’s all regulated to notables — who are now brave enough to use us as their sounding board to wellness.

But what about me? What about others like me — who’ve also been through some crazy shit — and managed to harbor the consequences with the help of imaginary friends and the promise that with a little luck — we will make enough money to afford the help we really need.

How do we cope with the addiction of Tweeting at the expense of our depleting sanity?

I tried to take an extended break — but unfortunately that didn’t work out too well. I ended up rocking back and forth with twitching fingers harassing the screen of options — as I tried in vain to challenge Netflix to a duel of lifesaving tactics.

Before I could believe it — I was back onscreen at the dead of night — recapping the expansion of the current trends while examining the ongoing mishaps.

I’m addicted to Twitter — because it’s the puddle of encounters that becomes the pool of infamy. It’s immediate and explosive with dashes of shock and reconciliation. It’s the evidence of what I’ve become and will never be. I can’t full explain the rush that overwhelms when the latest jolts in and suddenly everything changes. When my Tweets become light up — the validation is stagggering, but then why do I care so much?

I’m addicted.

That’s why social media was made for us. We were made for this and yet I feel like I’m being punished. I can’t be a Black woman and not escape the recycled pieces (including my own) that highlight my doomed disposition. I can’t be a victim of assault because I won’t share — and even if I do how will it compare to the millions that won’t ever be allowed the privilege of such an act?

Twitter is the enemy and I’m waving the White flag.

I will never excuse myself from the terrain of poison, but I won’t go down without defending my honor. I did not see this coming — but now that we are here — I’m willing to shame my naivety. How could I have bought the facade that was shrouded in the deficiency of the past — which necessitated the future?

I wanted what we have now so badly that I even dreamed it while fantasizing about the job offer letters that never arrived in the fall of 2001. The very notion of being able to not only publish your own shit, but also expel links that catch the fancy of editors at fanciful locations — was my fucking idea!

But, no vision is an original concept. The truth is that my dream concluded with the cohesiveness of humanity and didn’t quite expand to the territory that is currently stripping us of the code of conduct that was supposed to remain standing.

The game of Twitter has to be played with the understanding that there will be no winners. We have access to “breaking news” and the power to ruin lives in an instant — whether deserved or not. And yet we’re not happy. I know we’re unhappy because that’s exactly how I feel.

I hate myself for being that person who can’t let timelines breathe long enough for rejuvenation. I know what loneliness is when you read another statement from a starlet and equate it to the memory of a child you almost killed, but still can’t face.

The back and forth is the summoned fury — that orders the hourly blasts in order to keep us chained to the folly of habits that are under observation at the behest of our makers — who programmed us for cheat sheets.

The pain is beyond comprehension and bearing it is proof of what the mind can accomplish when scrolling is not enough.

I won’t stop competing and striving to override the malfunction that kicks in when more names are added to the list and the twists and turns present a collage of reactions that are just as debilitating as the last.

Unluckily for me there are no steps to follow for addicts that are helplessly turning against themselves in a bid to sell their protection. We just have the clicks and the mess we make when we troll the info that could very well kill us.

But, not before we Tweet about it first.

Written by

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!

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