WVORK I tried it so you didn't have to: Social media purge part 1 » Can I go on anyone’s Instagram? Just for a minute, I swear! Isabelle Orr Entertainment Editor I considered spending $34 in Claire’s on the Katy Perry Prism tour jewelry line the lowest point of my life. But as I lay underneath my duvet, watching the same blurry video for the 42nd consecutive time, I knew I had reached a newer, more dismal depth. Like every person who rolls the dice on app-based dating, I went through a passion-driven, tumultuous relationship that ended in a breakup. Instead of facing the facts that sometimes two people, no matter how much they love The Prince of Egypt, aren’t meant to be together, I faced our breakup with all the maturity of a young Ramses (from The Prince of Egypt). I went through stages of grief (eating a pint of non-dairy Ben & Jerry’s), anger (angrily eating a pint of non-dairy Ben & Jerry’s), and sadness (crying into a pint of non- dairy Ben & Jerry’s). Every time I thought I was over the relationship, I would see something that reminded me of my ex and I would run back to the Save-On frozen section, my safe haven. All in all, I gained about eight pounds. I need you Isabelle Orr Entertainment Editor y friend would appear sporadically, every time she needed something. She materialized in front of me one afternoon, her frantic breath clouding the glass of the pastry case between us. “I need your help,” she said. IT had been up at the crack of dawn and working for six hours straight without any break. “What is it?” I asked. “I need you to come with me,” she scrubbed her nose with the nubby sleeve of her sweater. “It’s later—it’s later today. An appointment. Later today.’ “Like a doctor’s appointment?” I used tongs to move a piece of banana bread from one side of the case to the other, streaking the glass shelf with oil. “I’m getting an IUD put in,” she said. “My boyfriend can’t come because he’s out of town. And I’m not talking to Breanna. She’s being such a bitch right now” “Who's Breanna?” I asked. I had Because I like to make myself feel bad (see: unfortunate haircuts and bangs from ages 12 to 16) I would further twist the knife in my side by combing through social media for any glimpse of my ex. My methods were as follows: Twitter I would check first for new tweets, followed by any tweets they had liked or commented on. In desperate times, I would scroll through their friend’s pages for any tweet that sounded like they were talking about my ex. Twitter checks were executed at least four times a day. Instagram While they didn’t personally have an Instagram account, I had followed many of their friends whilst drunk (my go-to party move that people never, ever like). I kept careful track of Instagram stories, watching for even the slightest glimpse of my ex. Instagram checks were executed at least three times a day. Messenger When each social media search would prove fruitless, I would open up Messenger and stare at the tiny box next to their name plans to go ICBC to get my driver’s license renewed. “Tt doesn’t matter,’ she said, picking the skin around her lips. “I need you to be there. Please. You're the only person who can help me.” The corner of the banana bread broke off in the tongs. “Okay.” I went with her to the cramped gynecologist's office and held her clammy hand as she had the procedure. She cried and told me it was like she was going through labour pains. “T can't believe I’m going through the pain of having a baby in order to not havea baby,” she sniffled. Afterwards we went to sushi and J let her talk about everything that was going on with her. “Breanna is my best friend and I totally love her but honestly I never should’ve told my boss to hire her because now we see each other all the time. Like, all the time. And sometimes I feel like she’s judging me for being a shitty employee but I’m noé, like I get my work done. But sometimes I slack off, you know? And I should be able that said when they were last online. Seeing the green “active” dot would whirl me into a frenzy. Were they talking to someone else? Were they just about to message me? They hadn't been online in a while— were they okay? Messenger checks were executed so many times a day that I would lose track. My need to see what they were doing verged on obsession. If] needed get up at seven, I would set my alarm for 6:30 to factor in the half hour I would need to do my “research.” Nothing was safe from me— each like and subtweet meant something, and by God I was going to crack the code. This went on until one night I stumbled upon an Instagram video of them at a party. They were in the background of the video, only in focus for half the shot. I watched them laugh and dance an infinite loop, and as I cried underneath my blanket, I realized that they were completely fine. They were enjoying their life and their friends, while I would full-blown weep at every concert I went to during any mildly sad song. I shared my feelings with a coworker’s girlfriend, who didn't really know me at all and looked vaguely alarmed. to. Because I've worked there so long. But enough about me, let’s talk about you.” I feebly muttered with a story about a similar coworker I had, but my friend only paused for a moment to shove an inari into her mouth before continuing on. “And it’s not like this is like, my job job. It’s nothing to me. But at the same time, I want to have fun at work. And I just can't have fun with Breanna there.” I listened to her talk, nodding and shaking my head at appropriate intervals. I paid for the sushi (“thank you so much! Youre so sweet!) and my friend ran into the rain without a hood or umbrella. I texted her three days later when my cat died. There was no response. I texted her seven days later to invite her to a mutual friend’s birthday party, and received: can’t talk right now sorry lol u know how i be. im going thru stuff but lets hang next week PLEASE !!! I texted her 13 days later to tell her that my boyfriend had broken up with me, and the message was marked as read, with no ~ “If social media is getting you so down, you should just delete it.” Delete it? The idea was ludicrous, and I told her so. After all, social media was where I got all of my news. From Pete and Ariana’s breakup to the new Carly Rae Jepsen single, I was up to date on everything that mattered, thanks to my trusty iPhone. “Tt’s obviously making you unhappy,’ my coworker’s girlfriend (who I had begun to think of as a sister with whom I could share my deepest fears with) said, edging slowly away from me. “I think it’s worth a shot.” That night I did the unthinkable. One by one, I deleted Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. I didn’t delete Messenger though—I’m not a complete Neanderthal! I wept a little, like I was taking near and dear friends out to the backyard and unceremoniously shooting them in the head. After all, who had been there for me more than social media? It saw my ups and my downs, the thick and the thin, the time I got my septum pierced. Prom photos, graduation, weddings—my media sphere had seen it all. And in one fell swoop, it was gone, response. Three weeks went by without a word. Then, one day—a text chime. I read the message: omg icant believe this!! breanna totally got me fired. I came in hungover on sat and she told my boss. idk what to do i have to pay rent and i'm freaking out My roommate knew someone who knew someone who once went to a party at my friend’s house. I took a bus, then atrain, then another bus to a street that looked too peaceful and idyllic to contain someone like my friend. When I knocked on the door, a guy who looked like he skateboarded opened the door. I asked for my friend. “Ohyeah, her?” He used the doorframe to crack his back. “I haven't seen her in forever. You can check her room out and wait for her, though.” I pushed the door to her room open. In it was a bed and a desk, and nothing else. ] sat on the unwrinkled bed and stared at the blank wall. It was if she never existed at all.