Deleted

I woke up to an email from Facebook saying they’d deleted my account. Just like that. No warning, no explanation, no appeal. Terms of service violation, they said, like that was all I needed to know.

Of course I hadn’t done anything serious. It was probably some photo where my chest showed, or maybe just the algorithm deciding it needed to flex. Facebook doesn’t explain these things—they just execute them. One day you’re there, the next you’re gone.

I’d spent years on that site doing exactly what everyone else was doing. Scrolling through the void. Stalking my exes and their new boyfriends with a kind of casual cruelty that felt necessary at the time. Posting terrible photos of my lunch, my drunk nights, whatever. Pretending it mattered. Farmville was there too, the obvious marker of how much time I was wasting.

And then it was over. No warning, no appeal, no explanation. Just deletion.

The weird part is the supposed relief of it. I’m untethered now. No more reflexive checking. No more of that particular time-suck. Which sounds good until you realize it also means no more… anything. Just the absence of a habit you didn’t know was sustaining you.

I could find another platform. There’s always another one waiting to siphon your time in exactly the same way. But I’m done with all that now. Maybe I’ll just go punch a nerd. Seems fair. Fuck Facebook.