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My name is Lorna…
”Oh for god sake, here we go again!” I hear you cry – first Anxiety, then OCD and now addiction, what’s bloody next!
But alas, it is true my friends.
My addiction to social media has been in steadfast flow for approximately ten years. It kicked off way back in 2007 when my sweeping fringe was questionable, my social antics excessive and I was introduced to the marvel that is Facebook.
As I merrily created my login, and uploaded my first ever profile picture, little did I know it would fuel what was to be,
I was instantly hooked. Facebook gave me a newly found love of oversharing – the desire had always festered within – I love an exposed tête-à-tête, however as yet I hadn’t been bestowed the platform in which to indulge. Furthermore, it enabled me to not only stalk old school mates, colleagues, friends AND ex boyfriends (including their subsequent new
And – therein lay the age-old problem with this peculiar but obsessive social arena. For someone, like myself – I only had to catch a sideward squint of a newly uploaded album that displayed fun frivolities in which I hadn’t participated, to fret that I was ‘missing out’. Way back when it was all the rage to upload WHOLE albums of your weekend’s merriment (GUILTY) my newsfeed would be
With Facebook freshly hatched, and social media hysteria at its peak – the albums of nights out, holidays, family weekends and romantic retreats were appearing thick and fast. I see
Oh, those were the bloody days – at its pinnacle – Facebook was everything I could have ever dreamed of and
But much like the good things in life that serve up potential compulsion (damn you Marlboro lights, my stale stinky friend) it was also fantastically dangerous. Especially for someone such as myself – who was not retiring in the personality traits of comparison and insecurities. Oh no, I did not require any further assistance in feeding my habit to compare every aspect of my life to others – especially those who weren’t even my ‘friends’ (but had open profiles, RESULT!) Fear of missing out, Jealousy and angst to name but a few were
I’m a loyal gal, and much like my allegiance to my family and friends, I am also true devotee of social media. And so, a good few years into my Facebook addiction, soon to follow was Instagram. THE BEAST.
She’s a crafty one. I’ve heard Instagram be described as a vortex. In fact, I dumped that word straight into an online thesaurus in hope of finding a suitable yet more eclectic description,
I’ve found my addiction to Instagram differs slightly to other platforms. It’s relentless, but it offers up a different avenue of addiction than Facebook. It’s given me a podium of which to share my parenting woes, provided me huge sentiment and drive to start this blog (and keep it
Of course, I’ve toyed with the Idea of giving it all up – going cold turkey and sweating all that social media straight out of my open pores but I know I would
And it’s not, least not all the time. For me, it offers a strange escapism. I relish a good aimless scroll – liking, clicking, reading, commenting – all with no huge objective. And mostly it’s genuinely stuff I find of interest – the post that makes me LOL on a packed train whilst commuting into the office, or induces a confidence boosting, life affirming ”oh thank fuck,
Then the vortex cunningly draws you into a dark cosmos. A place where I find myself bleery eyed at 1am, with a dead arm and possibly four hours sleep on the horizon at best – but I am scrolling. And scrolling. Feed after feed – another click leads you to another feed, to another, and another – the ‘Insta’ whirlpool unknowingly dragging you in. Sometimes it’s the beautifully filtered (if ever so slightly on the bleak side) Monochrome images of which I will never take inspiration from, or maybe the lure of a
And then sometimes, it’s edging towards 1.40am and you find yourself casually perusing the latest feed of “Tessa and Johnny” – a dreamy golden skinned and muscular looking couple from Nashville Tennessee who are documenting their journey of protein fuelled paleo food diaries, captured in daily Instagram photos, and you think – what the actual fuck am I doing? That is when I have to check myself –
It’s those moments, since having the girls, that I am suddenly slapped back from the vortex, into the everyday with a screech of ”Mummyyyyyy” or more regularly, and quite fairly ”For fuck sake, get off your bloody phone and live in the moment” (that would be Jamie) And he’s right. There is no barney to be had. I have no excuse. Other than I’m addicted of course. I am aware though, and I believe that with any bad habit – if you’re conscious of it then you can start to remedy it.
LIFE lessons.But where’s all the bloody fun hey people?! And there is, for me – SO much fun to be had on social media if you don’t give into the probable comparisons and the pressure to please. Looking back at my old albums and status’s whilst penning this blog has not only been hilarious, but it’s taught me that I must NEVER ever have a fringe cut again and to always use suncream when holidaying in Turkey during a heatwave. Those are LIFE lessons my friend, and I have