Parasite

Please be aware that the following post addresses themes of trauma, bipolar disorder, and addiction.

As a kid, I spent a lot of time on screens. A lot. I watched cable television, played Nintendo consoles, and surfed the web. Chances are I did each of those things every day.

The summer of 2004 fundamentally changed my life. I received my first personal computer. An older brother’s hand-me-down; I had a Dell desktop; a black, rectangular monitor and a bulky HP tower with rounded edges. I had been using computers for a while, but this was the first one that belonged solely to me.

Each morning, I rolled out of bed, walked three feet to my computer desk, and spent virtually every waking moment in front of the computer. Between visiting Neopia’s Giant Omelet and making moody posts on Xanga, I was a busy gal. (Not counting the hours spent on sites such as I-Am-Bored, Homestar Runner, and eventually MySpace.)

Walking into fifth grade, I was typing more than 100 words per minute. I understood basic HTML and had amigos in different area codes. I was 10 years old. A fair amount of my childhood had been spent in front of a TV but with the computer’s introduction, there was no competition. Nothing compared to the portal that was the internet.

With each passing moment spent in the cybersphere, I was gradually earning my rank among the internet’s eclectic and niche community (which I would argue no longer exists). As a millennial, I joined at the tail end of this phenomenon – just a year or two before social media took the world by storm. The niche internet culture I describe predates viral memes like Keyboard Cat or Tay Zonday’s, “Chocolate Rain.” Nadya Primak describes it best,

“It really felt like the wild wild west back then, with each new website I encountered like finding a unicorn while out on a stroll. I think even the inaccessibility made it feel like a more magical place.”

If you know, you know (IYKYK). But if you don’t, let me try to explain. Before the internet became infinite real estate for advertising, it was kind of like a virtual amusement park. A brand new one that few people had visited, much less explored. All you needed was an ethernet cable or a modem and – boom – you had a year-round access pass. There was a catch – no maps. You just wandered aimlessly until you came across a website you enjoyed. 

The downside of not having a map in this digital Disney World was that you ran into more bogeymen than unicorns. One wrong turn and you would find yourself in the pit of dot com doom. The early internet had an abundance of unfiltered, uncensored content; some of which was deeply disturbing. Again, IYKYK. I will probably spend the rest of my days learning how the early internet has traumatized me.

Despite its downfalls, the Y2K web offered a home for social misfits. It was exciting to find somewhere you felt like you belonged – especially if you didn’t already have that in the real world. 

MySpace and Facebook led the internet into its next evolution – social media – and completely changed how the world interacts with technology. We’ve watched as different sites and apps have conformed to the standards that social media has created. For example, we have the ability to “like” things across all platforms, something that didn’t really exist before social media. Celebrities were setting up camp and the opportunity to remain anonymous was slowly melting away. The internet was fusing with the real world and screens became more addictive than ever. 

It’s safe to say that my relationship with the internet – which was already unhealthy – did not improve with social media. Tumblr combined many of my favorite parts of the internet – journaling and image hoarding – and it had its chokehold on me for many years. During college, Snapchat was one of the main ways I communicated with people. Eventually I grew out of Tumblr and Snapchat and tried to reduce my social media consumption altogether. That is, until Instagram reeled me back in. Once I transformed my personal Instagram account into one for my music, I was back in the matrix.

Finding creative ways to promote myself, engage my audience, and make connections, was invaluable as a small-time singer-songwriter. With all of the different features that have been added over the years, it has never been more entertaining to be a content creator on Instagram. I’m proud to say I’ve never had a TikTok, but consuming the same kind of content on Instagram isn’t really any different. Once I started making my own Reels, I was lost in the sauce. It’s no secret that these videos appeal to our most primitive instincts.

An unfortunate incident disrupted the trance: my Instagram of over a decade got hacked. I fell for a new hack plaguing Instagram. Within seconds, complete control of my Instagram account was handed over to a faceless hacker. Now, they could use my face to carry out their wicked deeds. Despite countless cries to Instagram, the account has not been shut down nor has it been returned to me. 

They remain a parasite under my skin; parading around as me, shamelessly inflicting pain and confusion on others and I, their helpless host.

After years of loyalty to the internet and social media, I genuinely felt betrayed. I was disappointed in myself for falling for the trap and mad at this anonymous antagonist.

Yet, amidst all of the grief, I felt relief; it was as if this person did me a favor. I could feel Instagram’s grasp gradually suffocating my soul – and I honestly didn’t know what to do about it.

This is the sneaky reality of problematic use of the internet (PUI), which, simply put, is an addiction to the internet. PUI is not just using the internet a lot, it’s using the internet in a way that can negatively impact your psychological, economic, social, school, or work conditions. Anyone can develop addictive behaviors, but people who have bipolar disorder (BD) or exposure to trauma are even more likely to develop them.

These scientists discovered a strong connection between PUI and trauma. They surveyed 113 subjects with BD and found that their participants with PUI showed more symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). This suggests that exposure to trauma could increase a person’s risk of developing an internet addiction. 

The type of trauma experienced by the patients was not provided in the article, but I started to wonder.

Did any of the subjects consider themselves traumatized by the internet? 

Although there’s little research to support it, more and more people are beginning to speculate whether it’s possible: can we develop PTSD from the internet? And if that’s true, doesn’t that put us at a higher risk of developing unhealthy coping mechanisms… such as compulsive use of the internet? Are we doomed to an eternal feedback loop of ones and zeros?

As an eternal optimist, my answer is no. If you have spent nearly your entire life on the internet like I have, you will find it hard to escape its grasp, but it’s not impossible. It takes a lot of self-awareness. It also helps if you have someone you can build healthier habits with. Once I started living with my husband, we became increasingly aware of our tech tendencies. We actively try to hold ourselves, and each other, accountable to a healthier relationship with our technology. Recognizing the patterns in our behavior to avoid mindless consumption is an important starting point. “Doom scrolling” on social media is usually the effect of an underlying unmet need. Taking the time to sit and ask myself what I really want in that moment is what helps me move in the right direction. We also try to balance our lives with time outdoors or in the company of others. It’s been especially important for us to model positive tech use for our two-year-old son.

So while I lament the loss of my Instagram page, I revel in the liberation. Since the hacking, I’ve felt present in my life again. I recognize that I’m still susceptible to problematic use of the internet, but I let that inform my decisions and work hard to be more intentional with my time and energy.