I killed the digital me

to remember how it feels to live without proving it.

I don’t know why, but ever since i was a teenager, sadness made me invent punishments for myself.
not that i’m proud of it. but i’m trying to reflect now, and to understand why that reflex still lives in me.
like... i have to show up for everyone, be all in for them, and when the “everyone” includes me? suddenly it’s too much.

this time, it hit again.

i felt that deep ache.and instead of standing up for myself, maybe even naming what hurt me, maybe even saying you’re making me sad, i turned it inward. again.
the punishment was: delete instagram.
so i did.
i killed the digital me.

not out of power. out of pain.
not because i had a grand strategy. because i didn’t know what else to do. and I was mad.

and… i’m not even sorry. i don’t like how much time i spent there anyway. and in the quiet that followed, i started noticing the pros.

like remembering what life felt like before all of this.

the days we were truly seen

I remember how it used to be. When life wasn’t recorded, just lived.
I remember it perfectly. The way I was growing up.
Outside. Always outside. In the yards of my friends. On our little street. Playing all kinds of games. Enjoying the freedom.

I was a child without this, all digital, and I’m so grateful I still carry those memories — vivid, alive, warm. And my parents, I can’t even start talking about the way they were THERE. Without screen distractions. They were THERE! With us. Talking. Listening. Playing. Dancing. Singing. Reading. To us. Fully present. Fully alive.

Modern disappearances

It’s not the first time I’ve done this, I’ve deleted stories, posts, whole profiles, Photos, thoughts, memories, parts of me. When I feel too much, I retreat, erase and vanish in small, invisible ways. It’s my modern version of self-harm. Because the truth is, I didn’t delete Instagram because I wanted less of the world, I did it because I felt like I deserved less of it. I didn’t confront the problem, I didn’t set a boundary, I didn’t say, that hurt me…

Instead, I punished the only person I know how to punish,
Me.

Post-Rationalization

Later, I tried to justify it. Social media is toxic, i really needed a break. I wanted peace, not posts. And maybe that’s all true, but that’s not the full truth. The real reason, didn’t feel worthy of being witnessed and i didn’t feel like I could sit with my sadness
without deleting something or hiding from it.

The double life

Sometimes it feels like we live in parallel universes, the real one and the digital one. And our digital selves often seem happier, more fulfilled, more in control. It’s strange. I’ve looked at my own content recently, and most of it is real. It’s my aesthetic. My rhythm. But why do I need to share it? Why can’t I just live it and let it be?

It’s not easy to admit this, but I’ve had those dark moments on social media too. When I was waiting for someone to reply. Seeing them online but getting no response. Wondering why. Feeling invisible. Such a fool, me. Even though I know none of this is real, even though I’m fully aware that social media is a mirror house, at the end of the day, I’m still human. I am allowed to get in the loop.

And sometimes I catch myself scrolling through memories, trying to reconnect with older versions of me, as if they could tell me who I am now.

Then I wonder, why am I defocusing myself here, instead of sitting with myself quietly? Why am I not asking myself the real questions? Who am I, really? Why am I here? What doesn’t fit anymore? Am I even happy?

logging out to log in

So yes, this time, I had the urge to deactivate it all. To pull the plug. Quit the show.
and stop seeing people only as they choose to present themselves. Stop comparing my quiet to their noise. Stop scrolling for answers I can only find within.

And the most important thing. I wanted to stop documenting and start feeling. For real. Because this is my life. This is me.

Focus. Focus is all I need.

I want to start listening to the version of me from the real world. Life isn’t content. Life is … life. And it is supposed to be beautiful.

So…

I killed the digital me.
Let’s see if the real one survives. :)

But I promise to try to rebuild and reborn her.

And I hope next time, I won’t have to go this far. I hope next time, I’ll catch myself sooner. Speak up for myself instead of turning against myself. Let the sadness be seen, instead of burying it in silence or deleting something to feel control.
I hope I’ll remember I deserve kindness too. From others, yes, but especially from me.

Maybe then, I won’t need to kill a part of myself to feel alive.
Maybe then, I’ll just choose me, without needing proof.
And about the digital one? I don’t even care now. The real one matters.