Click. Unlock. Scroll. Lock.

Written December 8th 2018 by Winter Burnett

Click.
Unlock.
Scroll.
Lock.
Notifications? Ah. Just one. Good though.
Obsession? It’s not as bad as some though.
I’m not alcoholic. I don’t do drugs.
It’s not the same to OD on technology.
I have other problems. deeper.
This is just a symptom of something beyond my control.
Do any of us really have control?
Click.
Unlock.
Scroll.
Lock.
Battery low.
Searching to recharge. It’s not as simple for me.
No universal plug. No standard volts.
I don’t just take electricity.
It’s hard work to rest.
It’s difficult to step back, stop, and breathe.
The things I need a break from are the things sustaining me.
An endless cycle of repetition.
Spirals down. Spirals within to myself.
Click. Unlock.
A brief world of escape.
Did you like my photo?
65 people saw this.
Vote on this little poll.
Showing the authentic self that I formed and that I like.
The quirky silly dramatic purple lipstick wearing person.
Scroll.
Scroll.
Lock.
I don’t show you the crying in my car or alone walking my dog at night.
Pacing in my tiny room when I have too much energy.
The useless shit I buy because I need it in the moment.
The binge eating away the emotions I don’t want.
The hours I keep myself awake feeling sad.
The over sexualized thoughts that come whenever they feel like.
Shortness of breath like an asthma attack all invented by the anxieties of my head.
The days I literally put “get out of bed, leave room, use bathroom” as individual checks on my todo list.

It’s much too much to share.
Too dark of a secret to keep.
I share bits with some and bits with others.
I don’t exist as fully human to any one person.
I’m layers of fake personalities.
Layers of funny and sad stories.
Layers of certain emotions and circumstances.
And when I start to show the real me
And you leave.
You don’t even have to really leave.
You can still be there and still care.
You can still love me and hold my hand.
You can still be physically present in my life.
But there are days my anxieties take up all room inside my head.
The cloud of depression is less like a dense fog and more like volcano smoke and ash suffocating me.
Hypomania leaves no room for anyone but myself. I’m pretty awesome after all.

Click. Unlock.
Scroll
Here we are.
Back again.
Scrolling as unhealthy obsession.
A coping mechanism.
All I have for sanity.
Covering the hole that would show what is really left of me.
Hint: I’m worn out and empty.

Airplanes and Fireflies

Airplanes and Fireflies
By Winter Burnett June 21, 2017

Stars and fireflies. The tiny lights that light the way.
Airplanes and cell towers. Are they the ones that get in the way?
Technology has this hold on me… that you don’t see.
It has the ability to connect you to me.

When will I stop pretending?
Can I ever change my ways?
These secrets I hide?
The lies I hide behind?

The flicker of hope a ‘like’ brings.
That twinge of regret after a snap.
One retweet would be worth a hundred words.
That tagged status update, a million.

When will I stop pretending?
Can I ever change my ways?
These secrets I hide?
The lies I hide behind?

The humor is geared towards my favorites.
I have a collection of admirers.
They don’t know the real me.
And those who do, I fear don’t want to.

When will I stop pretending?
Can I ever change my ways?
These secrets I hide?
The lies I hide behind?

I fear that I’m some peoples’ annoying, unfollowed follower.
But I don’t fear the internet, I fear the place we call real life.
How do I leave this fake world and focus on the now?
How do I draw the line and not use it to hide behind?

So many thoughts.
I should start another journal.
I should find a friend.

But which ones are like me? Keeping their secrets and pretend?