It might have just hit me, that this addiction may have stemmed from my pathological need to avoid people.
Reading old blog posts about those dark times in the middle of the night might not have been the greatest idea. But amidst all the tears and the phantom pain, I remembered. I remembered why a book lover who had once denounced the digital worlds turned to her once sworn enemy. I remembered why, I remembered how.
God, I remembered how.
Those days of fearing rejection to the point of avoiding even the slightest chance of rejection. Of preferring to be alone because nobody can say no if you're alone. Nobody can say no if you don't give them the chance to. I was so pathologically lonely that my logic went the whole cycle round and turned back on itself.
After all, if you're alone, nobody can make you feel lonely.
That was two years ago. Two years ago when I painstakingly learnt to be alone. Forced myself into solitude. Pushed people away. Locked myself in my warped logic. I remember hating every moment of it, of the enforced bubble of solitude, but still forcing myself into it. Feeling out of place in the cinema alone. Enduring stares, imagined or not, of the crowds at famous roadside stalls while eating. Sipping hot chocolate in cafes staring blankly at the passing stream of people too busy to pause for a while in life.
My phone was my only companion. Loaded with fluffy unrealistic fiction of want and longing and hurt and comfort and fairytale endings. Filled to the brim with what I didn't have, never had. I was drowning myself, because that was the only way I could breathe.
My phone became my constant companion. I wrote diary entries in it instead of talking to another person. I read instead of listen to people telling me stories. I hid behind a screen because I was slowly losing all that made me human. I forgot how to converse with another human being. I lost interest in other people's stories; I was completely uninterested in making human connections.
And it didn't help that I didn't want to. After all, no human connection = no hurt.
2016 was... Crazy is an adequate word, I suppose. I hated being alone, but I made myself like it. 2016 was when I was forced into solitude, and having no other choice, learned to love it. Love isn't quite the right word; love is too gentle for what I had. Perhaps, obssessed is a better one. Addicted. I was obssessed with being alone. Addicted to solitude, and terrified of the loss of my solitude. Terrified of what lies outside my bubble of solitude. I was a complete lunatic.
And my phone was the victim, and my partner in crime.
But 2017 came, and despite my resolution to be alone, and to be contented alone, there was--quite contrarily--more people that insisted on barging into my life. People who I felt comfortable with, surprisingly. Once I'd resolved myself to be happy alone, and finally feeling contented alone, people started coming back into my life and I, to my surprise, was slowly letting them in without even noticing.
In hindsight, perhaps I wasn't meant for solitude after all.
But still, my phone was a shield. The very moment I felt threatened, or awkward, or afraid, the phone comes out and puts a shield and a world between me and the rest of humanity. It was already second nature. I'd associated my phone with safety and comfort, and by that point I had serious trouble keeping away from my phone. Every few seconds my eyes flit to my phone, like a heroin addict taking a hit every few seconds, missing the comfort it brings. You cannot be on your phone and not be alone, you know? It's not physically possible. Research have shown that multitasking is basically your brain focusing on each task for a few seconds before switching to the next, like a man on drugs flipping channels. It's physically impossible to be on two things at once, much less when it involves one as complicated as navigating a conversation.
Despite the influx of people returning to my world, I still close them out from time to time. I make excuses. I lied, cheated and manipulated. So that I could have my alone time with my phone. I was having mind sex with my phone every single night, every single free moment I could squeeze out. My books, physical books that I have once sworn by and loved and cherished and couldn't put down and read so belovedly, they lay forgotten on the shelves. Despite my best attempts to get a start on them, I couldn't. I gravitated back to my phone and the unrealistic fairytales that lay within.
It wasn't until last year that it happened.
See, I do try. Whenever I go out with someone, for a chat, or a meet-up, or a catching up session, I promise myself to not look at my phone. Or at least, try. But like an addict beyond help, my hand rests on my phone as I talk and laugh and giggle and gossip, and with every vibration of my phone, my eyes flit on command to my phone. And my fingers inch towards the phone and my mouth starts to make excuses about having to take this. The excuses eventually stopped; I was shamelessly and unapologetically checking my phone while in company.
But.
But. It stopped. This addiction. This pathological need to check my phone every few seconds. I was making through the whole day without checking my phone. My phone battery was still in the 70th percentile at the end of the night. It was magic.
Every time I meet this person, the conversation enraptures me to the point where I forget about my phone. I felt human connection that could hold my attention again. And it made me shift focus. Yes, there are times where I was tempted to check, but one word, one look, and the urge is batted away as simple as flicking away a stray hair. I do still check my phone though, but only when I am physically alone. But, my need for my phone has reduced so drastically, even when I'm not in this person's company.
It's completely illogical. I cannot reason this out. I simply cannot believe that my addiction could be cured just like that.
But it's happening. And this phenomenon has reduced my need for my phone so drastically, that my addiction to fanfiction and social media scrolling has lowered to near zero. I no longer check my mail religiously for fic updates. I no longer glue myself to the screen. I could hold conversations without my eyes flitting towards my phone (well, unless the conversation is so boring or awkward that my defense mechanism kicks in).
It's kinda bad though; because it feels like I'm relying on this person to make myself a better person. That this change is not from within. Because I do relapse back to my phone-caressing habits whenever I lose that level of connection for an extended time. I glue myself back to my phone and the unrealistic fanfictions when I don't hear from this person in a while, or if I go back to my solitary ways.
But it's progress, I suppose. At least I'm no longer actively avoiding people. At least I'm going out, meeting friends, reconnecting with what makes us all human. And perhaps I needed a catalyst, a human connection on a level so unbelievable that it pulls me back into this world, and remind me that I'm human too. Perhaps this person, with the enrapturing quips and witty remarks, is what I needed to break through this almost-steel bubble of solitude that I've built around me.
It's a good start to 2019, though.
2016 was learning how to be alone. 2017 was learning I don't have to be anyone but myself, and if that means being alone, that's okay. And 2018 was learning that I don't have to be alone to be okay.
So here's to 2019. Open your doors. Let connections form again. Take risks. Jump with your eyes closed. Being alone is fine, it's okay, but ultimately, it's a defense. And you know it.
Have courage, darling. Let them come. Let them hurt you. Let them link you back to the world in all its pain and wounds and suffocating ties. Let them introduce you to something more than just being okay. Let yourself be human again. Have courage, darling. Embrace the pain. Let yourself be hurt. It's okay. It's okay.
It's okay to hurt and be hurt. We all do it. It's what makes you human.
Let 2019 be the year you finally find courage to open up your heart and jump in. Let not your fear hold you back from forming connections. Who knows, this may be the year you finally find someone who you'll fight yourself for. Not just someone who will fight for you, but someone who you'll want to fight for, even if it's yourself you're fighting.
Don't ask 2019 to be good to you. Be good to 2019. Be good to yourself.
- 2.23am, technically third of January, 2019.
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