Coming October 2022: "The Last Folk Hero: The Life and Myth of Bo Jackson"

Why Facebook depresses the hell out of me

I like Facebook. Hell, I’m sort of addicted to Facebook.

And yet, I hate Facebook. Truly hate it.

I graduated from Mahopac High School in 1990. I was sort of a dork—not the biggest geek in the grade, but certainly the bottom quarter. I was the sports editor of the student newspaper, ran track and cross country, had legs the width of pretzels and never kissed a girl. In short—dork.

Once I took that final step outside of the school’s doors in the summer of 1990, my memories were sealed. The cool kids would always be the cool kids. The smokers would always be the smokers. The jocks would be the jocks, the geeks would be the geeks, the girls I had crushes on would always be hot and the kids who picked on me would always be enemies.

But now, alas, Facebook.

The cool kids are fat and bald. The dorks look pretty good. There was a smokin’ hot girl (’90s term) who looks 50, and a girl I’d never noticed who is absolutely beautiful. We all comment on one another’s families (“Wow! What beautiful kids!”) because, well, what else is there to say? We haven’t been in each other’s lives in 18 years. The void is enormous—way too big to fill with Facebook chatter.

Worst of all, I hate how Facebook makes me seem old. I wake up in the morning, look in the mirror and feel great. I’m not the geek I was 18 years ago—I’m confident, I like my shaved head, I like my goatee … I feel good. But then I see everyone else … see how different many look, and wonder, “Man, are they thinking the same thing about me? Do I look 50, too?”

Damn Facebook. Damn you.