2016 was by far the best year of my life so far. It was the first time I moved out of home, it was the first time I had a full time paying job, it was the first time I moved to a different country. It is a year I will never forget. Every time I reflect on my memories of 2016, I become happy, sometimes longing to go back to a better time.
If happiness was a building, I was sitting on the top, legs dangling, looking out at the world below me. Problems were small and distant, and life was great.
Then, came to fall.
With the rising hype comes the great crash. I began to fall from that building of happiness, and soon found myself lying on the pavement unable to move. To onlookers I looked fine physically, but I was broken inside. I could not move. Often people would stop and see if I’m okay, but when assured that I’m physically fine, they move on, wishing me well.
I sometimes found the energy to move again. I would begin grasping at the walls of the building, pulling myself higher and higher, and when I reached that final ledge my fingers were aching, almost numb. I could see happiness waiting for me over the ledge, but I could not find the energy to hoist myself over that final barrier. I was too weak. And the cycle would continue. Over and over and over again. I would fall, and then climb, sometimes not even reaching near the top. Sometimes clinging to hope that I’ll get there eventually.
After awhile people stopped coming by to see if I was okay. Who could blame them? It’s the same thing over and over again, and people get bored and tired of someone who keeps falling. Why can’t she just stay up there? If only it were that simple.
I don’t want anyone to stand on top of the ledge to pull me up; one day I’ll be able to find my way back to happiness. Right now, all I ask is for someone to be there to catch me when I fall. I don’t want to hit that pavement again.
I was lucky to pass the age of twelve without being glued to my phone. This is no judgement on those who are young and have phones and share a love for social media. I, myself, am obsessed with social media. Ultimitaley, it’s my own downfall.
Until the age of fourteen or fifteen, I barely used social media. Then, it all changed. For some unknown reason I became obsessed. I sought out validation through likes and notifications. At the age of nineteen, nearly twenty, that hasn’t changed.
Like any other young person, I love social media. There’s nothing wrong with liking social media at ALL. The reason I’ve come to hate social media, despite obsessively using it, is because of how much I let it define me. I get anxious changing my profile picture, and have to message people to make sure it’s okay and that they will support this ~massive~ change. If I get less than one hundred likes on my profile picture on Facebook I feel worthless. I wonder why I’m not as good as the girl getting hundreds of likes on her profile picture. I allow it to make me feel ugly.
Instagram is my worst nightmare and my absolute guilty pleasure. Anyone who follows me knows I post frequently, mostly photography. However, I do post selfies like everyone does now and then, and again I allow likes to define me. I keep comparing myself to the pretty girls who get hundreds to thousands of likes without trying. Why aren’t I as pretty as them? Why aren’t I as skinny as them? Why am I not as good as them?
For me, social media has more of a negative impact on my mental health more than anything. Of course, I’ve tried to delete it all. It’s the obvious thing to do, right? But I’m weak. I keep falling back into the trap of social media, and the cycle begins again.
I hope one day I’ll stop letting likes define me. One day I’ll stop comparing myself to others. One day this negative obsession of mine will be gone, and I truly hope I can be happier.