Today is the day my Twitter account has been wiped from the internet. While I’m sure that there’s a paper trail somewhere of the various things I’ve said over my 15+ years on the site, my larger output has officially disappeared. My handle has become free game, hopefully to be used by someone closer to a Steve Martin fan than the trolls that turned the website into a wasteland. This wasn’t something that I had on my bingo card even in October 2024, but it felt like something that became less and less about morbid curiosity and more about personality sanity. With current events making the forces that be more toxic in my imagination, it no longer felt fun to be ravaged by bots and users who rode the line between actually existing and being nothing but a bunch of crosswires. It was no longer worth the bemusement of a deteriorating user interface where the feed gave me nothing of value after 15 minutes. Given the mass exodus following the election, it has progressively felt worse to see goodbye messages sharing their relatable distaste and having deleted accounts wreck years of correspondences.
At some point, I had to take the jump, and jump I did in the only way I knew by doing it on the most cursed of annual dates: Friday the 13th. With today marking the one month anniversary and, in the words of The Phantom, “the point of no return,” I felt like reflecting on the immediate reaction to this moment. Whereas I was all too precious in the build-up to that deadline, there was something about being on the other side that left me conflicted. How would I feel when all of the sudden that connection was gone? How would I take to the absence of daily stimulation from a website that felt like watching meat fall off the bone as flies gathered around the scraps? While I will always be fond of the memories I formed there, it was time to move on. As I thought of the words to commemorate this occasion, I landed on two in particular…
That’s all?
The regret isn’t there. If I’m experiencing any negative emotion, it’s one of questioning my larger value on social media. Unlike a lot of things in life, my greatest lesson is the flimsiness with which our online presences are designed. For as much as they connect us, they can be taken away so easily, and there’s nothing left. Maybe we’ll remember a moment here or there, but once it’s gone, there’s a good chance that everything we have built up will disappear. As of now, I don’t feel like I’ve lost anything substantial… and that’s concerning. How do you dedicate 15 years of your life to cheap amusement and not feel like something about your time is wasted? While there are a lot of amazing people I’m grateful to talk to on these websites, I recognize the limits of being a 35-year-old whose biggest revelation since 2020 has been to get the hell away from the internet for a while and just appreciate life. In some sense, the clarity has shot myself in the foot because certain drives aren’t there. What social media I use is less groveling for virality and more just a chance to support people whose perspectives I respect.
This revelation wasn’t entirely because of Twitter, but it’s close enough. Over the past three years, I considered Elon Musk an abhorrent figure. He’s the mastermind who created the world he wanted to live in for the people who don’t need it. For all of the innovations, I saw a multi-billionaire capable of solving even his biggest problems fail to experience happiness. He’s Daniel Plainview at the end of There Will Be Blood (2007) disposing of people once they’ve served their purpose. It’s a tragedy made worse because of our front row seat to watching his every inner thought spiral out of control. We can complain. We can celebrate. However, nobody can impact his trajectory and all we can determine is that Musk is the quintessential case study of how unlimited freedom doesn’t guarantee happiness.
A major reason that I deleted Twitter was to get away from him. The revelation of Musk funding harmful rhetoric mixed with knowing that there’s TWO major social media websites associated with the incoming administration convinced me that it was only a matter of time until those websites become federally sanctioned propaganda machines. In light of California’s historic wildfires in January 2025, reading your once and future president call your state’s governor “Gavin New-scum” on Truth Social is uncomfortable. Knowing that Mark Zuckerberg is rolling back fact-checking rules on Facebook suggests we’re in for a tough time.
In some respect, this is an admittance of being a wimp. I can’t be in the eye of a hurricane every day until I’m 39. I can’t be stressed out by a manic depressive billionaire and a president who enjoys name calling try to gain our attention over the trivial. Yes, there’s a lot to be concerned about and I’m taking it all seriously until it’s not, but I can’t be on social media being consumed by the conspiracies and knowing every small detail. Frankly, discovering that people were creating A.I. generated images of The Hollywood Sign in flames upset me on a very personal level. I had to question not only the cruelty of the person who made it, but the system who will probably manipulate the entire world with it. I fear there will come a day when we don’t recognize ourselves, and it’s all to form this narrative of state-sanctioned media where most major newspapers no longer feature the all-too-necessary freedom of the press.
In my imagination, this would probably be a lot worse had I stayed on Twitter. I found some relief on Bluesky not only because the followers I wanted to talk with were around, but there wasn’t this aura of distrust. Maybe it was the mix of cute animal accounts with more serious topics, but I just enjoyed being on there. I was surprised with how efficient the interface was and its ability to continually find something to amuse me. While it shares the same limitation of any text-based website, I found the lack of drama to be such a relief…
Save for the fact that Musk was there. Maybe not in the flesh, but as some cypher who existed in the code. Much like being on Twitter, there was this subset of commentators who loved bullying the guy for every foolish decision he’s made. In the week following my departure, I found complaints of him wanting to turn Twitter into a legislation-influencing machine. He was starting to name himself after bullshit memes and create government agencies based on cryptocurrency. There was no shortage of commentary.
While there’s a lot that deserves to be chronicled for the sake of this country’s history, there is something exhausting about seeing “your ex” being dragged during a period where you want to see anybody else. However, I think the upside to this dragging was that for the first time in my life, Twitter didn’t have a hold on me. There was nothing directly supporting Musk’s power-hungry drive. Whereas I look at 2021 when I had a mental breakdown at the very thought of the website going under, I look at the deterioration now and… I feel fine. For as tragic as it is to see once hallowed ground be desecrated by egos, it no longer impacts me. Twitter can go away and my tomorrow won’t be any less empty.
And that is the thing that I’ve realized most from my first month away from Twitter. In those days, I haven’t once had the urge to revive my account and apologize for overreacting. There was never any guilt that a place that I sought comfort in for 15 years was now gone, where most of my information would evaporate and I’d be left with unattainable memories. There was none of that. In fairness, I had an audience that I could immediately react with on Bluesky and that likely makes a world of difference. Even then, I’ve had to start back at the bottom without the history or sentiments attached. Given how insignificant most new social media feels to me now (I’d love to try Spacehey but feel self-conscious in knowing I’m not in the age bracket and it would just be a desperate plea to recapture my high school years), I don’t know that I’ll ever feel “special” about a website again. I’ll go where the crowd is, but when the day comes to leave… I’ll just leave having known how superfluous the whole shebang is.
That may be the most difficult emotion to process. While I’ve headed in the direction of downsizing my internet presence for a few years now, I have to wonder how long the pleasure will continue. I’m confident that it won’t ever fully go away if just because I’m still getting the stimulation these websites are designed for. I talk to people. I learn about interesting things. However, this instinct to be a hustler who is always striving for that attention may be a fleeting experience. To me, it feels like something you outgrow. This may be simply projecting a lot of insecurities or that I’m approaching everything wrong. Maybe leaving Twitter has been an admittance of crisis that I’ve been finding distractions for.
Which is all to say that I’m scared of becoming one with the avatars that I’ve been criticizing this entire time. For as much as I attack Musk for poor decisions, part of me is sad at knowing that even he can’t get fulfillment off of social media when it bends to his will. He chases a high that never arrives and it’s warped his brain to share every dumb idea that comes his way. Given the potential for my generation to suffer from a similar brain rot that has real-world consequences, I have to ask why we cherish social media as much as we do. For now, Bluesky is a safe haven where ideas can be expressed in rational manners. But what’s to stop Jack Dorsey from not repeating his own history with the right price tag? Are we just going to have conversations over “The Bluesky Killer” in five years? At some point you got to realize these are just computers and their functionality to pleasure is limited.
That may be why I’m trying to be more productive in ways that are fulfilling. I’m wanting to write more and take up drawing. I’ll get lost in a book in the evening instead of scrolling through feeds for two hours. I’m more motivated in wanting to take steps forward. This could just be that Bluesky hasn’t fully scratched that itch yet. Maybe it will go away as I settle into whatever 2025 offers us. For now, the absence of Twitter has caused me to feel more antsy. While I’ve chased it with a dash of TikTok, my mind right now is on what’s next.
I don’t know that anything exemplifies how I feel more than an episode of Pod Save America from last week. In light of the recent wildfire disasters in California, they discussed the way that social media has addressed it. While Bluesky introduced me to the very useful app Watch Duty, Pod Save America discussed how Twitter ostensibly became a landmine of misinformation. The once reliable, up to the minute place for current events was now a source of half-truths and things that I wouldn’t trust without a good day’s worth of research. There is nothing essential about it anymore. It’s a place of artifice, and not the fun L.A. kind. It’s more the magnifying glass showing how little is actually there. Basically, Twitter is not only cruel, but it’s inessential.
As I look at the one month anniversary of my Twitter departure, I ask what has changed. The answer is… not much. At most, I’ve separated myself from an epicenter of self-destruction that I denied was having any impact on me. As I assess where my head’s been over the past few days, I think it’s mostly that of relief. Bluesky has been good to me. It doesn’t feel like jumping through hoops just to be reminded of a better time. Instead, I am more relaxed and able to come and go as I pleased. For as much as the looming anxiety of the world still weighs me down, I’m not getting that from social media anymore. If anything, I’m having small moments that remind me of the joys I got five years ago. They’re not that significant, but even having somebody recommend me Bob Dylan records feels amazing. I love the spontaneity and trust that my notifications are for real things. I feel engaged with the world in ways I hadn’t before. It’s not entirely where I want to be, but it’s got enough for now.
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