Why I Left MySpace

I had a MySpace page. For a while, it was good. And then it wasn't. So I KILLED it.

It's been a little more than six months now since I smothered it with the pillow, metaphorically speaking, and I have to say, I really think I'm somewhat of a better person for it (at the very least, let's say that I'm slightly more productive). I really think that one could actually measure my emotional growth from when I hit that "delete my profile" button to now.

How one might go about taking such measurements is another story.

With all due respect to you folks that maintain and love your MySpace profiles -- shedding that particularly untidy corner of my internet life was like having a gristly 9lb tumor excised from my colon. At the risk of sounding like a total freak, it had become a bad, bad thing for me. Experience has taught me that when something ceases to be enjoyable, and yet you keep at it hoping that it will be enjoyable again, it's time to let it go.

And I could never quite get past that whole idea of asking your friends if they'll be your friends, and then fretting over whether or not you merit "Top Friends" status. I am 37 years old, and constantly feeling like I'm going to have to eat lunch in my guidance counselor's office all over again is deeply unsettling to me. I've often said that you couldn't pay me enough to relive those years, and yet here I was doing just that, in a sense, and doing it for FREE.

In case you've never killed a MySpace account, I'll tell you this: it's like watching a ship slowly sink. You (or rather - the version of you that you've created) don't immediately vanish once you've confirmed with The Almighty Tom that you really, truly don't want to be there anymore. Your picture stays up on other people's profiles for at least a day or so, and then it disappears from SOME profiles, but not ALL. Same with any comments or private messages that you've left.

It's sort of sad, really. You slowly fade away, but life in the online middle school cafeteria known as MySpace goes on. Another profile slides into the slot you've vacated on somebody else's Top 8. LisaMcC? Oh -- wasn't she the one who posted all of those annoying bulletins trying to get people to help her move? OMG, dude. WTF?

I confess that I periodically dropped in during those days immediately following the cancellation of my account, partly for the existential jollies of watching myself disappear from everyone's virtual lives, but also out of sheer habit. Without my own account, though, there's very little I can view or participate in, and so I wandered off, feeling vaguely "out of it," like a substitute teacher who's never in on the joke.

After I graduated high school, I would go back and visit. I had friends in the grades behind me, teachers I wanted to keep in touch with. And it was fun at first. But over time, it became obvious that I had no business being there. Certain teachers upon whom I was sure I'd left a lasting impression struggled to remember my name, pretended to be interested in my post-secondary-educational pursuits, tried to make small talk until it got so awkward they'd suddenly remember some meeting they had to be at. Eventually I got the hint, and stayed away.

So here I am on a new "networking" site. I haven't been here long enough to get a feel for the place, but I'm fairly certain that nobody here is going to post pictures of glittering teddy bears instructing me to "Have A BEARY Good Weekend." That alone makes me want to stick around.

So I sit here and wait, the way you manage to find an empty room at a huge party and hope that some kindred soul will find you.