I deleted Facebook. Well, sort of. I deactivated Facebook. Regardless, it's still big for someone my age to do so.
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What snapped? I don't know. What I do know is that my mouse clicked the "deactivate" button, and for a moment I thought I'd finally mustered up the courage to delete my pixelated existence forever.
I had allowed Facebook to create a huge sea of publicized, wasted emotions all tangling in each other, to change the meaning of words and make them all more superficial.
About eight weeks ago I had one of the roughest breakups I thought I would ever have to go through. Tears were shed, memories felt lost, and I felt so lonely. The worst part? Clicking deactivate.
Forget relationship status updates or enviable vacation photos. If you really want to create a buzz on Facebook, deactivate your account. That's what happened to me this summer when I pulled the plug.
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