She helps me set up my phone on a tripod on my breakfast table. She clicks on my ring light because, even though I did put on a little makeup, the light makes my skin glow. I need all the help I can get after all that crying. I’ve thrown my hair into a loose braid that hangs over my shoulder in an effort to channel my inner Sarah Pratt. I am calm. I am confident.
“Okay, it’s 7:57. Ready when you are.” Ashley smiles and sits behind the camera to help with any problems that might pop up. I could have done this alone, but I’m so glad I don’t have to. Doing life alone is for the birds.
I’m keeping it simple: I’ll thank my followers for their support through the years, and announce that I’m ending my social media presence. Easy peasy.Is anything really easy peasy, though?It’s 7:58. I need to breathe into a paper bag, and I can use it when I get sick, because I’m going to be sick.Why am I doing this?
At 7:59 it occurs to me that I could have made this announcement without going live. What a doofus.What am I doing?
At 8:00 I have the thought:After tonight I'll never have to do this again.Freedom.
With that thought giving me confidence, I go live. I stare at my face mirrored back at me on my phone. I look calm, at least. I smile serenely and wait as long as I can for people to join me. This is normally when my mother and I would make inane small talk, but it’s just me sitting here in silence and it’s more than awkward. I’m frozen, watching the comments and reactions as they come at me like a swarm of insects. Some of them try to sting like wasps and some flutter in like butterflies. There are a lot of hurtful people in this world, but for once in my life I know their hate isn’t an accurate reflection of me. Everything I’ve learned and felt in the past few weeks buoys me up.
I’m doing the thing I’ve dreamed of doing for years, but fear of the unknown has always stopped me. It turns out I only had to trust my instincts and take a few steps into the dark. When I feel solid ground under my feet, I know I’ve made the right choice. And I am enough—as is, without filters or layers of makeup, with an imperfect body and awkward personality, I am enough. I don’t exist to entertain or to be pretty. I can’t stop the smile that takes over my face when the truth of these thoughts settles in my mind.
“Hi, everyone!” I say into the camera with more confidence than I’ve ever felt. I quickly scan the comments to respond to the ones that deserve a response. I say hello to some of the friends I’ve made over the years, because I am grateful for the real ones who stood by me through all of this. Out of nowhere I catch Mercer’s username. She sends a string of questionable emoji that makes me laugh out loud and lose my train of thought.
“Hi, Mercer!” I have to give her a little shout out, which triggers a string of comments from her in all caps.
“I’m so happy to see so many good friends here.” I pause to remind myself to not use the phrase “I just wanted to hop on real quick” followed by a lot of not-real-quick commentary. It’s a long standing verbal crutch of mine. “I want to thank you all for your support over the years…” I explain that I’m closing my social media accounts and ending my presence online, which leads to a lot of funeral-worthy remarks and questions I don’t have answers for.
I spot Miles, the snake, in the comment section: “You still owe me—” and he calls me a nasty name. I'll take it. Anything is better than Gumdrop.
How did I forget to block him?My panicked eyes flick to Ashley. She mouths “You’ve got this” and gives me a thumbs up.
“Hi, Miles. Everyone, say hello to Miles. Glad you’re here. Isn’t it fun when you break up with someone and manage to stay friends? I mean, that’s not what happened with us. But it’s nice when it doeshappen.” I can’t stop my devious grin, because I know what will happen when I alert everyone to his presence
And I’m right. He gets dogpiled. The wolves descend on him, and they are ruthless. It’s as satisfying as watching a villain being destroyed in a cartoon. I’m glad I’m on their good side today. I read a few of their attacking comments and feel a tinge of guilt for siccing them on him. One comment catches my eye.
“She does owe you, but you deserve worse than a face full of pink powder after what you've done.” The comment doesn’t make me gasp, but the username that posted it does. JoeAubsPratt.
No. Freaking. Way.Aubs? OBBS!That has to be him, right?!
“Obbs?! Is it really you?” The tone of my voice suggests that there are hearts in my eyes, and Cupid’s arrow is most certainly sticking out of my butt.
He types back, “Knock knock knock.”
I scream—an actual scream that has Ashley wincing and leads to more than one annoyed comment. “Sorry, guys. Joe is… a good friend.” I’m smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
Be honest, Indigo. What do you have to lose?
My pride?
Long gone,I remind myself.
"Hi, Joe. I miss you." That feels like a lot to admit in front of thousands of people. I want to say so much more. I frown at the camera because he's too far away.
"I miss you, too," is his short response. Then, "I'm proud of you."
I slap a hand over my heart. "If you make me cry on camera, Obbs, so help me—"
Meanwhile, the poor guy is being pestered by hordes of females in the comments:
“Who is this guy?” fifty people ask at once.
“The account is private. Only has like six followers and zero posts,” says one commenter.
Another one says, “No profile picture. He’s def pasty white and lives in his mom’s basement.”
Mercer's comments are rapid fire like a machine gun: “Dude. He wouldn’t leave me alone until I showed him how to watch this thing. We’re in his office." Then, "You should see him trying to type fast, but he keeps messing up and starting over.” And, “Now he’s ticked at me. LOL. Learn to type, bro.”
