'Chopping the head off the narcissistic monster' or 'Deleting FB'

This so describes how I feel.
All monster addictions fear the sharp ax.
And the monster of narcissistic behavior is not immune. I've taken the ax (albeit a virtual one) to my Facebook account this week after stewing over it like a child picking a toy at Target. It took far longer than it should have and in the end I realized I wanted to do it the whole time.
I felt jealousy on FB. I felt annoyance on FB. I felt neglected on FB. I felt picked on. I felt nothing. I felt stupid.
Rarely did I feel connected to friends. But I looked every day, multiple times a day, for a nugget of joy to savor like a hard-won speck of chocolate. I posted and posted and posted some more. And I would get a “like,” sometimes two, sometimes ten, to reward my inner narcissism. And it tasted so fucking good. 
Egos breed on FB, they propagate to a horrifying degree. No longer can sturdy connections be made there, only posters who want others to adore them. They take no time to build a social world. 
Like an elementary school playground, it's about “look at me. Please look at me."
Recently I met a writer who worked for Marvel Comics. Michael Gallagher penned the comic book (and soon-to-be a motion picture) Guardians of the Galaxy in the 90s. As we talked, in person, in the real world, I began to realize he rarely met anyone interested in his stories, in why he took the characters in the direction he did, or why Marvel Comics operated the way they did compared to how they do now. 
We began to talk about creativity and the disconnect many display toward anything educational, anything inspiring in the least - good or bad - that malaise will come, but only after scrolling through the latest kitten memes. 
Gallagher spoke of meeting the Hildebrandt brothers, once famous for their illustrations for Tolkien's Lord of the Rings novels and what a treasure that encounter was for him. No one came to see them besides him. No one remembered who they are, or no one cared. I spoke of meeting Dune authors Kevin J. Anderson and Brian Herbert in Flagstaff. No one came to see them. No one gave a damn.
After meeting with Gallagher I posted images of the comics he signed for me on FB. Two clicked like. Nothing more. I realized then why no one cared. Today's world is for the narcissist. It's not about meeting someone who generally interests you. It's not about learning from them. It's about “look at me. Please look at me.”
And that is an addiction stronger than heroine. It takes an ax to chop that shit down. It takes a frantic moment, with a sweaty brow and an ass fattened from sitting in front of a computer, to stand up and hack it down.
Will anyone notice I am gone from there? Not for some time I imagine. Some will, but others will only begin to wonder why their “likes” have dropped off. When they stop posting their own egos and sharing someone's out-of-context quotes because “this so describes how I feel today,” then they will rise from their fugue long enough to notice. They'll mentally shrug, clicking the cranial “dislike,” then look for a new meme in line with their other first-world issues.
And my addiction will be forgotten.
Now for a cigarette and some bourbon.