Ctrl+Alt+Delete Your Life

A Social Media Breakup Story

Apr 08, 2025

Social media was fun wasn’t it… right up until it wasn’t. One minute, you’re posting carefully curated latte art; the next, you’re down a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories about birds. (Spoiler Alert: They ARE real and they ARE judging you.)

I held on as long as I could, but between the intrusive ads, the toxicity, the outrage over anything and my sister’s 47th Farmville request, I finally snapped. I did what any sane person would do; I deleted them all.

Around 2008, I worked with a guy who, during one of Facebook’s previous scandals, deleted his Facebook account in protest. After about a month, he reinstated it because “he stopped getting invited to Facebook events by his FB friends.” He said he didn’t like it, but that he NEEDED Facebook. I said he needed better friends.

Whilst I have this Substack account (obviously) and a BlueSky one for my eulogy writing business, I have no personal social media accounts at all. I don’t mind telling you, it feels good. Unbelievably, I still have friends and they still invite me to things. At least I think they do.

Here’s one phrase you’ve never heard from anyone who’s done something similar:

“I deleted all my social media accounts and my mental health got so much worse”.

No more doomscrolling. No more pretending to care about LinkedIn “thought leaders.” No more Elon or Mark. Just sweet, sweet silence… oh and some Substack Notes.

Look, we all know this day will come for us all eventually. The big 4 social media platforms and I had a good run, or at least, a long one.

I created my Facebook account around 2006, but I had a toxic relationship with social media for way too long. I used to LOVE Twitter, but I hated X. I just about tolerated LinkedIn.

They all start out fun and exciting; connecting with friends, posting dumb memes, trying to be funnier than the funniest person you know, stalking school crushes and pretending to care about LinkedIn? But somewhere between the incessant ads, "Pivot to video!" and "Pay for Blue Checkmarks", these platforms became something darker.

They stopped being places to connect with friends and work colleagues you like and turned into psychological war zones where every scroll was another hit of outrage-flavoured dopamine. My health and well-being were more important than that.

I saw it happening then. We all see it happening now.

Facebook became a geriatric QAnon forum where your aunt argued with strangers about "the deep state" under minion memes. Twitter (sorry "X") turned into Elon Musk's personal meme/reacts dashboard where verified lunatics held screaming matches with Russian-powered bots. LinkedIn? Just corporate cringe performance art where people humble-bragged about their "hustle" while secretly crying into their overpriced lattes.

We laughed, we cried and we wasted approximately 3.7 years of our lives watching strangers argue about mayonnaise brands. But like a bad Netflix series that somehow got six series, it was time to cancel the subscription.

That’s right. After years of toxic relationships, mindless scrolling and pretending to care about the political takes of a guy I haven’t spoken to since 2009, I have finally did the unthinkable: by the end of 2024, I’d finally deleted them all; Facebook, X (née Twitter), LinkedIn and Instagram. All gone. Not just the app, but my accounts on those platforms are completely deleted….. and relax!

So here I am, finally free (more or less) from the algorithmic circus, and you, probably reading this because you, too, have fantasised about yeeting your phone into the nearest river.

Some may call this a tragedy. Others, an act of self-care, but I prefer to think of it as finally breaking up with that one ex who thinks ‘we should talk’ means ‘send me 47 unsolicited memes at 3 am.

So grab your metaphorical tissues (or just use the ones you bought after that targeted ad convinced you they were life-changing) and join me as we laugh, cry and ultimately celebrate the sweet, sweet freedom of no longer knowing what your cousin’s boyfriend’s sister’s next-door neighbour thinks about the latest Marvel movie.

This isn’t just a breakup letter to social media; it’s a victory lap. A toast to the chaos, the cringe and the sheer absurdity of it all. It’s a story of how I escaped the digital asylum and why you might want to, too.

Buckle up. It’s time to bury these apps like the toxic exes they are, all the time delivered with a mix of solemnity, sarcasm and the quiet joy of someone who has just about almost, entirely unplugged from the matrix.

Dearly beloved,

Ladies and gentlemen, friends, doom-scrollers and former keyboard warriors and those of you who still have "Digital Creator" in your Instagram bio despite only posting memes you stole from Reddit, we gather here today, not in a physical venue, because let’s be honest, none of us like to leave the house anymore, to bid farewell to the digital ghosts that once haunted our every waking moment.

We’re here to lay to rest our dearly departed digital companions, namely Facebook, X (formerly known as Twitter… formerly known as a functional platform), Instagram and LinkedIn.

They are survived by their insufferable cousin, TikTok, who is currently too busy lip-syncing to the latest sped-up pop song to respond to our grief.

Social media, like an overenthusiastic multi-level marketer, once wormed its way into our lives, promising connection, opportunity and enlightenment. Instead, it gave us existential dread, bot-generated conspiracy theories and an unholy addiction to engagement metrics.

This is not just a eulogy. This is an intervention for your soul. A declaration of independence from the algorithm. A middle finger to the infinite scroll.

What started as a way to keep in touch with friends and family, but like a houseguest who doesn’t know when to leave, it took over every aspect of our existence.

But now, dear friends, the accounts have been deleted, the notifications silenced and the ‘Likes’ left forever unclicked. We are finally free.

Let us take a moment to honour the memories, or at least the ones that didn’t make us question humanity’s future, starting with Facebook.

Facebook: The Boomer Bulletin Board and Political Hellscape

Ah, Facebook. The digital equivalent of running into your hot ex at Tesco while wearing a food-stained T-shirt, ill-fitting tracksuit bottoms and Crocs.

Facebook was the land of minion memes, unsolicited political rants and your aunt’s ever-growing collection of blurry vacation photos from ‘somewhere in Spain.’

What started as a digital yearbook for college students quickly morphed into a never-ending neighborhood watch meeting, complete with panic over 5G, terrifying chain messages about kidnapped children and rage-fuelled arguments about who put the bins out first.

Facebook was home to many beloved archetypes.

There was The Oversharer, chronicling every meal, every minor ailment, every thing their child does and every vague marital dispute in excruciating detail.

The TLDR guy who ‘Likes’ every post without reading it, including those where your family member or pet died, you lost your job or when you crashed your new car.

The school classmate who still posts inspirational quotes over sunset photos, despite having no discernible career or hobbies.

There’s also The MLM Hustler, aggressively peddling essential oils, miracle weight-loss shakes, cabbage diets that DEFINITELY work and leggings with truly disturbing seam placements.

And let us not forget The Nostalgic Historian, tirelessly posting “Only 90s Kids Will Remember This” memes as if time itself had ceased to exist after 1999.

But it wasn’t all bad.

Who could forget the joy of poking people? Or the golden era of FarmVille, when people abandoned real crops to tend to virtual ones?

And let’s not overlook the heroic efforts of The Meme Curator, who selflessly spent their days scouring the internet for minion quotes, cat videos and boomer comics that reminded us all that ‘wine is just adult grape juice’ (clearly hilarious every time, by the way).

Yet, despite these fleeting joys, Facebook became a chaotic mess of misinformation, unhinged marketplace listings, intrusive adverts and your secondary school lab partner’s unsolicited opinions on Brexit.

What began as a charming way to connect with old school friends and workmates turned into an eternal loop of ‘Happy Birthday’ messages to people we haven’t spoken to in years and would happily pass on the street without even a polite glance.

Let’s not forget Facebook Marketplace, where you could buy a "lightly used" sofa from a man named Gordon, only to discover it smells like regret and cigarette smoke, but also boasts some ‘interesting’ stains in all the wrong places.

And so, with great relief, we say goodbye, Facebook. We shall not miss the fake news, the unsolicited event invites, or the ever-increasing number of “hacked” accounts sending us shady Ray-Ban sunglasses deals.

X (Twitter, Whatever It Was Called in the End): The Dumpster Fire That Burned Too Bright

Twitter - no, wait, X - was the social media equivalent of a pub at closing time: loud, chaotic and full of people screaming at each other about things they only half understood.

Pre-X Twitter was once a place for witty banter, hashtag games and breaking news. Then it became a gladiatorial arena where people fight to the death over whether pineapple belongs on pizza. (It does BTW).

It gave us viral sensations, legendary clapbacks and the illusion that our 280-character hot takes were reshaping the world. In reality, they were mostly ignored, buried under a sea of bots, brand tweets trying to be ‘relatable’ and one billionaire’s increasingly unhinged right-wing meltdowns. The big dogebag.

Ah, yes, who could forget Elon Musk’s reign, where the platform became a pay-to-play circus, where verified users argue with bots while the rest of us watched in horrified fascination?

On X, we found our beloved Reply Guy, lurking in mentions to correct typos and mansplain everything from astrophysics to basic arithmetic.

Remember the Cryptic Tweeter who posts “you ain’t ready for the truth” at 3 am and then ghosts us all.

What about the Self-Proclaimed Intellectual who writes a 12-tweet thread analysing the socio-political implications of a GIF of a cat falling off a sofa?

Who could forget the Brands That Tried Too Hard ("Hey, fellow kids! Let’s talk about Bitcoin! #WAGMI").

We also had The Cancel Culture Enthusiast, ready to unearth a problematic tweet from 2009 and demand immediate public shaming.

And, of course, The Perpetually Offended, launching into lengthy threads about why the McDonald’s Happy Meal toy was a personal affront to their existence.

But let us not forget the late-to-the-party The Blue Check Brigade, a strange coalition of actual celebrities, conspiracy theorists and people who somehow paid for verification in the desperate hope that they, too, could be considered ‘important.’

There was also The Perpetual Doom-Scroller, consuming disaster after disaster like a Victorian child locked in a coal mine, convinced that refreshing the feed one more time might change the world.

And so, despite its moments of brilliance, I mean, where else could you find Shakespearean insults about politicians alongside live updates of a raccoon climbing a skyscraper? X became a wasteland of outrage, misinformation and unsolicited opinions about Elon Musk’s latest whims. 100%.

So, we deleted it. No more arguing with faceless avatars. No more breaking news followed immediately by catastrophic misinformation. No more hashtags that mean nothing by morning. Farewell, X. You were chaos personified, but it’s time to X-it, stage right-wing.

LinkedIn: The Corporate Hunger Games

And then there’s LinkedIn, the social network that insisted on being ‘professional’ while simultaneously being the cringiest place on the internet.

A place where people wrote epic tales of business triumphs, like “I was out of coffee. I could have given up. But instead, I drank water. THAT is leadership.” It’s not.

For those unfamiliar with it, LinkedIn is where people go to pretend they love their jobs. A place where every post is a humblebrag ("So honoured to be named ‘Most Likely to Send Emails at 2:00 am’ for the third year in a row!").

It’s a place where people write essays about "grinding" as if they’re coal miners and not someone who sends Slack messages from their gym.

Let’s not forget to mention LinkedIn recruiters who slide into your DMs like, "Hey, I see you’re a ‘Human Being.’ Would you like a 6-month contract with no tangible benefits or wages?"

And of course, where would LinkedIn be without the "Thought Leader", the person who turns "I drank water today" into a 500-word motivational post about "hydration as a metaphor for resilience."

It even created a whole new species of workers. It soon became home to The Humble Bragger, detailing how they single-handedly revolutionised synergy while saving a baby deer from a burning building on their lunch break.

The Thought Leader roamed freely, dropping self-important wisdom like “True success isn’t about money. It’s about networking with me.”

And who could forget The Open-to-Work Warrior, bravely posting “Excited to start a new chapter!” while privately weeping into an outdated CV.

Then there was The Inspirational Hustler, posting about their ‘5 am grindset’ and how billionaires don’t sleep (except they do, on beds made of money).

Finally, let’s not overlook The Buzzword Overuser, who was “leveraging cross-functional synergies” in ways that made no earthly sense to anyone… not even them.

LinkedIn was less a career network and more an elaborate theatre where everyone pretended to be TED Talk material.

The motivational posts were relentless. The forced positivity was exhausting. The ‘endorsing people for skills they don’t have’ was just plain confusing and so, with great dignity, we have removed ourselves from the world of ‘Congratulations on Your Work Anniversary’ messages from strangers.

Rest in peace, LinkedIn. You were never fun… and we were never really friends.

Instagram: The App That Made Us All Fake Happy

And then there was Insta. Ah, Instagram, or IG to its friends. The digital equivalent of walking into a party where everyone is hotter, richer and more successful than you… though if we're being honest, they're probably just better at staging their lives.

What began as an innocent platform for sharing grainy coffee photos and questionable filters somehow morphed into a psychological minefield of performative happiness and carefully curated chaos.

We couldn't let you go without a proper send-off, Instagram, you master of illusion.

You gave us the Influencer, posting those supposedly "raw, real moments" that somehow always featured perfect lighting, a strategically placed sponsored product and captions about "vulnerability" that were clearly workshopped by a PR team.

Then there was the Fitness Guru, documenting every gym rep like it was an Olympic trial before posting their "cheat day" burger, which we all knew was really just a prop for their metabolism-boosting tea ad.

Let's not forget the Travel Blogger, always "living simply" while standing in £1,000 per night Airbnbs they'd carefully frame to look "off the beaten path."

Or my personal favorite, the Self-Proclaimed "Hot Mess" who would post carousels of "relatable" chaos (spilled wine! messy bun!) that were so obviously staged you could practically see the production crew reflected in their artfully smudged mascara.

And oh, the features you blessed us with, Instagram.

Reels, where 22-year-olds would explain "how to adult" while we all questioned our life choices.

Stories, where people documented every meal like it was a National Geographic special. "Here's my oat milk latte... here it is again from a slightly different angle... here's my friend's reaction to the latte..." as if we were all waiting with bated breath for the dramatic conclusion to this caffeinated saga.

We had to let you go, Instagram and not just because your algorithm kept showing me the same three types of posts: parties I wasn't invited to, holidays I couldn't afford and that one meme page I liked in 2018 that now exclusively posts crypto scams.

The pressure to make my life look like it had a "theme" became exhausting; no, Karen, my birthday BBQ doesn't need a “vibe”, it needs tomato ketchup and for you to stop judging my middle-aged life choices through a Valencia filter.

The ads became increasingly unhinged too. "You'd look great in this!" No, Instagram, I would not. I am a 54-year-old man. I do not need shapewear, no matter how many times you suggest it might "change my life.". On second thoughts, maybe there’s no harm in trying it… Do you have it in black? ;-)

But here's the beautiful part of deleting Instagram. No more pretending to enjoy "content" from people I haven't spoken to since 2014.

No more feeling inadequate because someone's "casual beach day with the family" looked like a Vogue shoot. No more accidentally liking a post from 57 weeks ago and having to fake a follow-up comment ("Still love this photo!") to save face.

So goodbye, Instagram. You taught us all how to over-edit our lives until they were unrecognisable.

You made us believe that ‘engagement’ meant more than just pretending to care and most of all, you proved that no filter, not even Clarendon, could fix the toxicity lurking beneath your perfectly curated surface.

Rest in peace, IG. We'll miss the memes, but certainly not the mental damage.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to figure out how to take photos of my latte without immediately wondering which filter would get the most likes.

The Stages of Social Media Grief

If this loss has any of you feeling a whole range of new emotions, I can help you. Expect to feel…

Denial – "I’ll just check it once a day."
Anger – "WHY DOES THIS APP MAKE ME WATCH A 15-SECOND AD FOR A 6-SECOND VIDEO?"
Bargaining – "Maybe if I unfollow the toxic people, or mute certain words, it’ll be better?" (Spoiler Alert: It won’t.)
Depression – "What if I miss a meme?"
Acceptance – "I don’t need to know what a stranger in Nebraska thinks about the economy."
Narcissism - “I want to delete it, but I have so many followers, my vanity can’t allow it”.
Pseudo-Outrage - “Maybe I’ll just delete the app, but not my actual account. That’s the same, right? I’m still making a stand against the broligarchy, aren’t I?” - See also 6.
Subscribing - “I really like this hilarious yet thought-provoking eulogy, I think I’ll subscribe and see all the other’s he’s written for free. What a wonderfully helpful thing, putting a ‘Subscribe now’ button just below. It’s the least I can do.”*

* - Might not be an official stage of grief.

The Life We Gained

But let us not dwell in sorrow.

Deleting social media is not just an act, it’s a spiritual cleanse. It’s like finally throwing out that expired yogurt in the back of your fridge. You don’t even remember why you kept it this long, but now that it’s gone, you feel lighter.

Deleting social media from your life is not a loss; it is a rebirth.

We are no longer prisoners of algorithmic trickery, slaves to the dopamine rush of a red notification bubble. Without social media, we can reclaim our time, our minds, and, most importantly, our ability to read a book without reaching for our phones every three seconds.

No longer must we endure the daily horrors of passive-aggressive Facebook statuses, unhinged X debates, or LinkedIn’s corporate motivational speeches.

Instead, we step into a world where conversations happen face-to-face, where meals are enjoyed without the need to document them and where we are blissfully unaware of what a distant acquaintance from school thinks about 5G technology.

What We Lose vs. What We Gain

In other words….

Endless political arguments vs. Actual peace.

Fake internet points vs. Real-life joy.

Ads for things we don’t need vs. Money we didn’t spend on those things.

Performance-based self-worth vs. The ability to just exist.

Final Goodbyes

So here we are. Facebook, X, Insta and LinkedIn, you were chaotic, ridiculous and occasionally fun, but like all bad habits, like eating petrol station sushi, dating someone "for the LOLs" and thinking Elon Musk is cool, it was time to let go.

I won’t miss the targeted ads, the performative activism, or the guy I went to Uni with who won’t stop DMing me about his SoundCloud. But I will cherish the few laughs we had before the algorithm ruined everything.

You might be wondering: "But what will I do with all my free time?" Fear not, for I have answers.

You can now read a book (or at least stare at one while thinking about how you should read more). You can talk to a human in person, although wary that it may involve eye contact.

You can go outside; I’ve heard the graphics are amazing, but the NPCs are weird and you can develop a personality beyond "person who reacts to tweets."

These will bring some unexpected benefits.

No more comparing your life to someone else’s highlight reel. No more realising your uncle has been radicalised by a meme page. No more LinkedIn "networking" that’s just people pretending to care about each other.

And so, let us bow our heads, not in mourning, but in relief. Social media is dead to us, and in its absence, we are finally alive.

Rest in peace, social media. You weren’t good for us, but damn, you were entertaining.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go touch grass. Literally.

Amen… or, as we used to say online, F in the chat. #Blessed

What’s your relationship to social media these days? Have you cut the cord, or are you still hanging on for #grimdeath? What was your tipping point? Let me know in the comments below.