How far does deactivating Facebook account help in healing your wounds?


​Deactivating social media accounts is, these days, the primary response to an emotional crisis. Stressed about exams? Deactivate. Got dumped by the girl? Deactivate. Realised nobody cares? Deactivate. Some do it even without any particular reason. Like my friend Atif.

My friend Atif loves to deactivate. It’s in the “hobby” section of his resumΓ¨. Maybe he’s always emotionally unstable, or maybe nobody has told him about the log out button yet. 

It all started in 2014, when our board exam was knocking at the door. People had quit watching porn and started concentrating on the syllabus. I’d disposed off the DVDs and stopped filling my diary. Atif was still busy scrolling through timelines. 

He deactivated after the result, making a loud, silly resolution – I’m not coming back for the next two years. He also resolved to stop masturbating. 

He failed the XII board exam. 

Those who are in love often do it to express something. Deactivating the account is somehow meant to impart a message to the world. Or else, you could have sulked in silence. 

Then, there are studious guys who visit Facebook on annual basis. They’d update their DP, check a few profiles, wish somebody a happy birthday, and go back to anonymity. Their visits are mostly nocturnal. What’s the point of having an account at all?

I’ve often resorted to this method of social alienation. It doesn’t help in my case. I have a teeming circle of friends up there. Plus, there are hot girls. So, deactivating only aggravates my woes. If somebody pisses me off, I block him. Like this one girl who kept sending me romantic couplets despite my clear resistance. It felt like an assault, and so I blocked her. Then, when I’m sad, I upload a drawing or something. When people like it, I feel happy.

In October 2015, Heroine bet me 500 rupees if I deactivated for a month. I was so excited about the 500 rupee note, I deactivated with a wide smile on my face. I lasted for exactly 14 hours. 

Recently, Atif sent me a friend request. His old id has been permanently deleted. 

“Suggest me a few hot girls. “He said. 

I told him to wait for five minutes and deactivated my account. 



I have my accountancy exam tomorrow, and it feels like I am going to light my own pyre the next morning.

The thing about exams is that they suck the life out of you, and spit it on the floor and squash it under their spiked soles, and then they piss over you before giving you a break.
I have my accountancy exam tomorrow, and it feels like I am going to light my own pyre the next morning. My expectations were never as high as 99.99% or above, but right now, a mere 33% seems like a distant and impossibly tough dream, like crossing Atlantic in one-size-small innerwears.
So yeah, I’m going to screw up big tomorrow. But that’s still okay, because I’ve developed some sort of screwing-up syndrome, and it’s fine if not heavenly. The problem is that girl who sits behind me and thinks of me as some high-brow Socrates or local Einstein or some omnipotent scholar which I’d have loved to play, but I just can not, and she some (most of the ) times pisses me off. I’ve never (okay I’m fibbing ) resorted to cheating (the last time I did, I was caught, and was mocked in front of the whole class) whereas the girl behind me takes up this risky venture as her favorite hobby, as if stealing answers is something cool and thrilling ( which it is, actually ). So anyway, I really want to say it out and loud at her face that I am a wuss and dumb, and so I can not show her the answers (or here, a blank answersheet ) and she should understand that. But since it sounds like making fun of myself, I won’t say it.
Then, my lodgemate sits on my left. And that is unsettling. I mean he is the one who transfers porn into my otherwise clean phone and brain. And he sits there, laughing at himself and at me, and through the looks in his eyes, says, “ah! Let’s get the hell outta here! ”
On my right sits a beauty who I get to see during exams only. She’s the only comfort in this otherwise godforsaken purgatory I’m being kicked into every once in a while.
But I loathe exams. I really do, with all my heart. They’ll never ask you what’s this and what’s that, they’ll always tell you this’s this and that’s that, so now tell me what’s what. How the hell one answers that question?
Plus, Maa calls and reminds me of my duty as a son, which comprises of two non-negotiable tasks :-
It’s taking me over. And I don’t even have a girlfriend. Yet.
So I guess, I’ll just flip through my accountancy book and then watch some porn and go to sleep.
Life’s tough.