I haven’t been on Facebook in two years. As I was breaking down I did make some posts that I would consider out of the norm for me. Really anything was out of the norm for me if it wasn’t me posting me teaching a fitness class, getting a promotion, or posting something about my son. And let me tell you, the few posts that I made before I completely removed myself from social media was not any of those things. I was embarrassed for a time, I knew the posts were there, I didn’t want to look. Last year on my birthday it was the first year since maybe 2010 that counting the “Happy Birthdays” on Facebook was not a part of my celebration. It felt good. It felt odd. It has been something that I have contemplated deeply since my breakdown. The fact that so many people feel that they have insight into your life when all you give them is what you want to show them. The fact that if you choose to disappear you are forgotten. The fact that I have been forgotten. I was hospitalized for 12 days and only three people in my life knew. One stayed. I did not share what I was going through, I did not share my burden with the world.
About a month ago I decided that I wanted to print all my pictures from Facebook so I could delete it for good. I finally built up the courage to open up my page, look at myself again, at who I used to be. I deleted the posts that I made when I wasn’t myself, now two years later. I started printing. I printed every picture that I wanted from when my son was 2 to when he was 14. When I stopped posting. I told myself that I would keep it there but if it were to be deleted tomorrow I wouldn’t care, that I had everything I needed as long as I had my pictures. My moments in time.
Weeks later, today, I gathered the energy to buy photo albums. Filter through the hundreds of pictures I purchased. Take notice of the family members who I can now only see here, the places we are in also gone with them. Realizing just how much has changed, how much life I’ve lived. How fast it’s been. How grateful I am to have this glimpse into the past. These little moments. The prints take me back to the days that were lived within these captured images.
When I broke down I stopped creating memories. I was barely hanging on as I was trying to heal from my past. And as a result I’ve barely taken any pictures in the past two years. When I looked through the past 10+ years it felt like I was staring back at a strangers past. The memories familiar to me but so distant from where I currently am. How do the dots even connect?
I wonder if 10 years from now I’ll print my pictures out and be in awe at how far I’ve come from 10 years in the past.
The Girl Without A Face 