…and all I ever do is
— The Mighty Mighty Bosstones
Stare at the pictures for hours on end
They tell the truth to me
While I’m sure you just pretend
Some people who have been through a lot of gaslighting respond with what I would probably call hyper-documentation if I were a person who named things. You develop a need to have proof of things happening the way that you experienced them, going hand-in-hand with the ever-present hyper-vigilance. This is a very logical response when you need to prove you are being taken advantage of, but doing this indefinitely will start to drain energy from other aspects of your life. It is probably not a coincidence that I just posted this a few days ago.
To tame the hyper-documentation instinct, a good strategy is to remove yourself from situations where you are forced to or feel compelled to provide proof of every action and interaction. Easier said than done, sure. But while none of us will probably ever be free from shit entirely, we can make the effort to recognize when it’s healthier to put effort into getting the fuck out of terrible situations instead of endlessly trying to fix and endure them.
Some mountains aren’t worth climbing. Some dragons aren’t worth slaying? That just makes me feel bad for dragons, though many are known wealth hoarders. Some people aren’t worth knowing. Some public online spaces are not worth the and photos of dead cats in your DMs.
And so my finger hovers over yet another delete button, certainly not my first, and probably not my last, to say goodbye to yet another online space that is a never-ending tumble-dryer of nonsense. I don’t know that I’m yet ready to delete the hard drives full of reality-proving evidence that have piled up over years and decades, but just reducing my need to reference it or contribute to it further is a welcome relief.
Some photos aren’t worth taking, or worth saving. There. I brought it back to the title.
*1990s ska horns toot in the distance*
