It has recently come to my attention that young teenagers became so overwhelmed by their entire life that the last resort is no longer social media – it’s gone a step further such that they now branch out to fake social media accounts, where it isn’t so much flowery and idealistic as it is dark, desolate, and . . . well, amazing.

You’ve followed a multitude of them already (probably, unless you’ve purposely deprived your instagram feed of the utmost authentic meme content) and most of them are ironically private; not to protect them from strangers, even . . . like, to protect them from the people they secretly despise in real life.

Having said this, I decided to make one, but don’t bother following it because it’s long-deleted. However, I do have enough dignity to say that if I hate you, it is most definitely not a secret. Ha. I was gonna be all “This is a social experiment to demonstrate the concept behind finstas” or some stuff I pulled out of the sixteenth dimension of my under-matured frontal lobe. In reality, however, I just like being an obnoxious trend-follower, so here goes.

• Day One: My feed is as empty as I feel. This reminds me of the day I made a Facebook in the sixth grade, only slightly more fulfilling. Still, all popular instagram accounts had to start from zero (my mantra for those of whom have yet to procure a senior quote to email to the yearbook committee; feel free to steal it – you won’t, but it was kinda funny, wasn’t it?).
• Day Two: I have nothing to say about my life. I wish I did, I’m a cool person. I just sleep way too often to have much to say about my day.
• Day Three: It feels . . . not okay to vent about college. That ought to seem generic. Then again, all I have posted are multiple angles of my face, way past the comfort zone distance – this has been on a downhill slope from the very beginning.
• Day Four: I have yet to come up with a funny and not-inappropriate version of my name. Any attempts thus far have resulted in failure and profanity.
• Day Five: I never felt so unshackled when my thumb tapped the “Delete Account” button. It took me roughly ten minutes to even find it because I’m a mess.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the rise and fall of Rome. All my humor, squished beneath the stress of a virtual photo album app, with a tasteless gradient design as its logo. I need to lower my expectations down a notch – or, like, twenty. Maybe this is why Fuller House was a bust.

Have a good one, folks.

* photo via Google Images under the Creative Commons license