RIP My Twitter Account (2009-2022)

when Twitter fingers become trigger fingers

After months (perhaps years) of having an addictive relationship with Twitter, I deleted my account last summer. It was not the first time I decided to take a break from the platform. In the summer of 2010, I took an extended break from Twitter while enduring the struggles of a broke 20-something. I could no longer afford to live in my apartment and had to move in with my sister, sharing a bedroom with my 14-year-old niece. My car broke down, which made commuting between work and school arduous, especially in cold Minnesota winters. My mental health plummeted, and I eventually dropped out of school and ultimately gave up on pursuing my Social Science Degree; I needed to focus on my survival. At the time, Twitter was relatively nascent, and the platform functioned differently than today. Back in the days of #FollowFriday, my timeline felt like a tight-knit public group chat. We engaged with other Twitter users as if they were our actual friends and not simply accounts representative of beliefs we either agreed or disagreed with. It was not yet a norm to engage with people for the sole purpose of debating. 

The gap between my Twitter and IRL communities was so narrow that I collaborated with a few friends to curate an event called "Tweet and Meet," where we linked up with other Black Twitter users in the Twin Cities area. Because of the tight-knit nature of how I operated online and my tendency to talk about my thoughts and how my day was going, I didn't feel I could authentically engage with my digital community while enduring the shame of my hardships. Even back then, I knew that Twitter was not a safe space to be vulnerable or the best use of my time when I was in a painful period of growth. 

What once felt like sitting at a high school cafeteria table immersed in a mixture of conversations amongst friends now feels like a cacophony of cheers, boos, chants, and stray bullets in an overcrowded stadium.