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Sunday I met some friends I hadn’t seen in six years. We’ve known each other for 25 years. But when they left I broke down. I woke up at 3:45AM yesterday morning with terrible anxiety. I wanted to kill myself. Because life felt like hell once more and I’m too inadequate. I can’t do people, people make me feel uneasy. I’m an introvert, I practice selective misanthropy.

Monday morning I reactivated my personal Instagram account. I hadn’t posted in almost two months. And I added a link to my website. I felt like a part of me had disappeared with that account. It’s ridiculous of course, but I’m a social media addict. I removed 100 followers who just lurk or sell stuff and never post and have nothing interesting to say anyway and I really don’t give a shit about them. Or people from a long gone past or who have hurt me. Now my Instagram is private again and my personal diary, like it was supposed to. I regret removing some of the pictures, because I always regret everything I do. But I have the back-up and I use it here. Selfies obviously, the animals. People telling me I look pretty is something I like. But I only post flattering pictures, like anyone else. Yesterday my nose was swollen from all the crying and screaming.

Fuck selfies.

Fuck social media. I will continue to tweet and post my art where it belongs.

And I’m on Instagram again because it’s just another channel I can play.

Do you know what people really want? Everyone, I mean. Everybody in the world is thinking: I wish there was just one other person I could really talk to, who could really understand me, who’d be kind to me. That’s what people really want, if they’re telling the truth

Doris Lessing, ‘The Golden Notebook’

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