Sploonie

I deactivated my Facebook account. For a week. Then I’ll see what I’ll do. I need to focus and stop staring at that screen. For a week, at least. Then I’ll see what I’ll do. I still have my other account. That’s for my pages, my art pages. I’ll keep that just to use my two pages. I removed the link to my website. It’s not ready. Maybe it will be one day. But it’s not ready yet, not yet. Maybe I’ll paint again and keep it up this time. But I can’t go on being so cruel to him. It’s mean and unhealthy. I need to stop staring at names and artists and fantasize about people I’ve never met and just live in the here and now. Fuck Facebook. It’s a trap. It’s a drug. A hard drug. Terrible, like heroin. I know I’m addicted. Totally addicted. It’s not healthy. I can’t spend my life on Facebook. That’s why I turned it off. For a week. Then I’ll see. I might stay off after that. Or maybe I won’t.

But for a week, I’ll give it a try. And see how I feel. Then I’ll reconsider. I’ll continue to use my pages. But not the real profile. The fake profile.

Saw TM yesterday, told him I was batshit crazy, “totalement à la masse”. He says “oh but it’s not visible”. That’s the fucking problem, it’s not visible. I look completely normal. Pretty and good for my age. But I’m not normal. I’ve never been normal. I’m really sick. Same goes for my body, it doesn’t look sick either. It looks in great shape. But I’m chronically ill. A real spoonie. And a real loonie. A sploonie.

That’s what I am, a sploonie.

sploonie