Smash That “Like” Button

I hate that I’ve become someone who cares about getting likes, being retweeted, or having my work commented on. Sure I write for myself, to get the jumble of ideas sloshing inside my head down, but why is it such a bad thing to want to be recognized for it? I often tweet about being part of a clique called Irrelevant Twitter which is where some drift through the cyberspace of the social network unnoticed. Same can be said for tumblr, Instagram and, unfortunately, here. As far as the former sites go I really am not much a selfie taker and tumblr is not a very good place for jotting down blurbs; it’s better suited for artists.

But here; this is where my people are. Last time I got any recognition for work  came junior year of high school 13 years ago. Now, my voice on the internet feels quieted. I like to tell myself “there’s so much content online it’s easy to get lost.” If you’re an avid reader of my work, specifically personal posts, you know how much the journey towards self awareness means to me. So in the spirit of that I have to admit something and it’s best to do so out loud rather than repeat a pretty lie: in the real world I do not and have not received the gratification I was hoping for so I sought out the internet to do so.

Why do I need strangers behind screens telling me that I’m attractive, funny, or my work is something to look forward to? Because when we don’t get what we want we find other means to make it ours. I’m grateful for the scattered likes on my blog, surprised to get any. But then I visit other blogs, see the amount they get, and sulk in my mediocrity. A guy I share similar looks with will be better looking than me. Someone with the same writing style as mine gets more likes. I am fine with being average but not when it comes to my passion.

In recent months I’ve been frequenting a certain cam model site for research. One thing I’ve learned is some of the women oftentimes do it for the same reason(s) this post exists: to be liked, wanted, and knows someone behind a screen can inject them with the gratification they need. For me this drug has existed since MySpace. Didn’t know I needed it until the syringe needle had been stuck into my vein. Now, I don’t know how to kick this habit.

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