I recently spoke up online because I got tired of sitting around reading comments on social media from people who lack common sense. Well…I mean, I guess I “typed” up, but I digress…

It all started with 1 seemingly harmless post in a “Parents” of blah-blah ISD FB group. Someone had shared a link and mentioned that parents could email the governor’s office with any concerns about sending kiddos back to school without a mask mandate. It seemed reasonable enough, but knowing how opinionated people here can be, I was prepared for a comment storm. I obviously have a stance, but that isn’t the reason for this post.

By the time I arrived, there were already several impassioned opinions and little sub-threads popping up all over. At first, I was just reading through the comments, wincing a little, grinning a little, scoffing a little, giggling a little, hiding in the shadows, completely unseen, occasionally liking or loving a thing. People had a lot to say, naturally.

So, I guess I encountered something that made me feel triggered, so I felt the need to respond. Although, the first time that happens, it can be a real brain fuck trying to decide whether to actually hit “Send” or not. And I’m sure I read my first post around 5 times and fixed a few things before pulling the trigger. I have standards, after all.

I came in lukewarm at first, absolutely riddled with anxiety about who I might piss off, just a few brief yet knowledgeable bits of input, until I noticed I was firing people up. Then it became more about defending myself as all my anxiety fell away and shifted into revenge fantasies. Heart racing, sweat gathering on my brow. It was intense. After a few hours, I’d allowed it to consume me.

For context, responding to heated posts on the internet is something I try to avoid because, as a writer, when I get going, I can easily enter a flow state. Everything in life slows down, fades away, and becomes about that moment….putting people in their respective places, one mic drop after another (keyboard drop?). When I’m in that state, several hours can go by as my ass goes numb and my blood boils. I just yawn through wave after wave, responding to the idiocy, throwing down subjectively witty but never overly disrespectful banter (wouldn’t wanna piss off the fans).

Speaking of fans, although I’m a little ashamed to admit, it does kinda become about the likes after a while. All those little thumbs ups and red cartoon hearts….I can’t get enough of them.

After a few days, consumed by my computer screen, excitingly returning over and over to clear up all the notifications and address tags directed at me in response to my rants, I realize I’m not sleeping quite right. Not sleeping at all, actually, or drinking water, or caring about much of anything outside of the storm of proof and opinions spinning in my head like a hurricane. It began devolving rather slowly when I noticed I tagged the wrong person in a response or replied in the wrong thread and had to delete or move my “work.” That’s when it hit me: Getting involved in these seemingly useless arguments with people I don’t know over heated topics that are currently split pretty obviously right down the middle, is dangerous, but also just like a drug.

It took me balling on my bathroom floor at 3am on a weeknight to realize that what I was doing was affecting my mental health in a negative way. I was exhausted. It was all I thought about, day and night for 2 days straight, and I needed to understand why that was. I told myself it was time to pull away from it. Just as quickly as it came on, the surge of notifications dwindled as I stepped away, as if on cue. Don’t get me wrong, I still needed to click on them to make those little red flags disappear, because OCD….but I stopped responding.

Now that I’ve come up for air, I’m just wondering how I got so lost in it. For a moment there, it felt like that scene from Close Encounters when the dude’s building things out of mashed potatoes in the basement. Had it gone on longer than a few days, my family might have begun to worry. It was a brief look into how easy it is to get stuck in a loop, and it was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

Of course, the main reason I got myself into that mess is because it’s getting more and more difficult to keep my thoughts to myself with how bad things are. But on some kind of level, I think the educated staying quiet is part of the problem. If this is a thing that puts me in a flow state, there must be something important I can do with it. Arguing with people on social media isn’t the answer…

The lost and brainwashed masses are victims, really. Victims of a system that supports, and sometimes promotes, misinformation and conspiracy theories. I can’t judge them because they’re just a product of their environments, as I am of my own. I can’t hate them because I have family and friends that share the same ideals, despite my belief that this nightmare has gone on so long because said ideals lack empathy. And I can’t help them because they don’t want to be helped. They think I need help. So we agree to disagree. But things are only getting worse because of that agreement.

It’s like I’m standing outside of a burning building, looking in, surrounded by other likeminded, educated people who’ve already found their way out (or were somehow prepared enough to avoid being caught in it entirely). And I’m screaming at those still inside to “GET OUT OF THERE! The house is on FIRE, dummy, LOOK AROUND YOU! Come outside before you suffocate! Ok….You’re flesh is literally burning now, please pay attention!” And they’re chanting and screaming back “Sheep! You’re just a sheep! Do your research! Oh, you think the house is burning? You believe EVERYTHING you see on the news?!”

It’s pointless. And it’s heartbreaking. And that’s what hit me….hard, in the middle of the night against the cold tile floor. I sobbed with the fan on so no one would hear me. I needed to purge in that very moment lest I explode.

I ache to think that the only way people who are trapped in their mindsets will ever see the truth is to feel that truth. After all, the most effective way to learn is through experience. Unfortunately, that also means they need to be affected by this tragedy to the point where they’re shaken, in mass numbers. And I hate that. It isn’t fair. I care about what happens to them, even after all of this. But I’m getting to the point where I hate that I care anymore. Those of us who do are at a disadvantage because caring is a weakness. I’d still absolutely rather be me than them, but it’s tragic and I’m guilt-ridden for admitting that.

Anyway, I think I need to avoid heated posts for a bit. It was fun and somehow also awful while it lasted, but I guess I’ll just be a spectator for a while…