Mark was thinking about deleting his Twitter account.

Jake Keefover
6 min readOct 11, 2020

He had joined Twitter because he thought it would afford him the opportunity to put his wit on display. At that time, Mark was also beginning to pay attention to conversations online. This was primarily due to his “Writing in Online Places” course in college. He wanted to immerse himself in online writing for the sake of becoming an online writer. He was trying to establish a professional presence. He also had a blog, one of several over the past few years, and multiple Instagram accounts, each portraying one of Mark’s many hobbies.

As he began to create his Twitter account, Mark found that his account from eight years ago was still active. He glanced through some of his tweets and decided to immediately delete that account and start over. Sure, he could have deleted the embarrassing tweets one-by-one and revamped this old account but Mark wanted all associations with it to disappear. The tweets weren’t that bad, mostly callouts to his girlfriend at that time. He had discovered that her account sat in hibernation, as well, and she still had her profile picture set to a picture of them despite the fact that they broke up seven years ago. But some tweets demonstrated the prowess of Mark’s immaturity, saying things that clearly showed that he had not thought about who might see it.

Mark deleted that Twitter account and started fresh. It was a shame to begin anew and lose the impressive “Joined September 2012” tag, but he weighed the costs and decided it was worth it. He was always impressed by older Twitter accounts, and there were many that outdated his own. “They had been there since the beginning,” he thought. When he stopped to think about it, he realized that those early members had just joined the bandwagon sooner than he had. Mark made a point to not jump on any bandwagons too soon and some he ignored completely. Eventually, he had come around to join nearly every popular social media platform: Xanga, Myspace, Facebook, Tumblr, Reddit, Google+, Snapchat, Instagram, Blogspot, Weebly, and most recently, Medium. Each served their purpose at their time. Although most of the accounts were probably still active, Mark only actually logged into his Twitter and Instagram.

Mark obviously did not have a problem with sharing; he often enjoyed thinking up some “thing” he could share with the world, whether it be a photograph or unconsidered opinion or witty tweet. His problem was in the response, or lack thereof, that he received in return. He was his own biggest fan and was often disappointed when others did not share in his neurotic fanaticism. Mark would often take breaks from posting, waiting for a true gem of inspiration, but when those came, his genius again went underappreciated, by his standards at least.

After Mark deleted his old account, he searched it several times to make sure it was dead. He felt a latent embarrassment for the tweets that had probably went unseen except for by his friend group at that time, who was also immature. But he couldn’t help but think about if someone from his current friend group, or worse, a professor or coworker, saw those tweets. Of course, someone would have had to be interested enough to search him out on Twitter. Mark thought that that was unlikely.

With his new account, Mark really put time and effort into what he posted. Oftentimes, a flash of wit would take him and he would think to himself, “Now that’s a tweet.” These were the tweets that brought him back from his self-loathing breaks from posting. Unless he immediately logged into Twitter and drafted it, Mark would soon forget about the masterful tweet and it would never come to be. Many ideas would come to him in while he was driving, and he would scratch them out at red lights or stop signs. He would scramble to find something to scribble on, which frequently came in the form of a napkin, piece of mail, or receipt. Usually, these inspired tweets would only be liked by Mark’s grandmother and sister. If grandma didn’t like it, he knew it was actually shit.

Sometimes Mark would type out the tweet, only for it to exceed the character limit. He would try to slim it down, using abbreviations, getting loose with punctuation, and he would have to decide if the shortened tweet still contained the profound essence of its original incarnation. Mark has prolonged some of these decisions to the point of forgetfulness; he actually forgets, or gives up on, his flash of insight. Here is one such idea that never came to be:

Church is probably the longest-running book club. Everyone listens to the one person who actually read the book. They flip through the pages in their own books, lying to themselves, “Ah, yes. I do remember that part, where the main guy did the cool thing.” Sometimes wine is involved. For some, it’s the only reason they show up. Wednesday nights are the more casual, gossipy versions.

Mark had some major success with only one tweet. He combined a movie clip, a caption, and a current event, and they worked together perfectly. The tweet probably would have gone unnoticed but Mark tagged the main actor from that movie clip. He was retweeted by the actor and then about eighty more times. Over 40,000 people watched the video on Mark’s tweet. He had to turn Twitter notifications off because his phone was buzzing all evening. Mark felt really good about himself. But despite all the views, retweets, and likes, nobody followed him. He remained at his lowly fifteen followers.

This was not the moment that Mark found himself deciding whether or not he should delete this new account just as he had the old one. He was still pleased and excited that he had virtually interacted with an actor he had followed for years. But as he continued to follow this particular actor, as well as other celebrities he was fond of, Mark found himself beginning to be annoyed, even irritated, with the things they would post. Primarily, this was due to a difference of opinion on political issues; he happened to rejoin Twitter during an election year. Mark’s opinions were ardently opposite those of many of the people he followed. Most of his friends did not have Twitter accounts and those that did would go months or years without posting. All he really saw were people he didn’t really care to see. Mark found himself wondering why he even logged into Twitter at all.

Twitter was becoming a passive experience for Mark; he no longer interacted at all. Sure, he habitually scrolled through, but he did not often tweet, retweet, comment, or even like the things he saw. He was in a bad relationship. All he did was give, hoping that he could take at some point. The taking he got was never that good, and the giving seemed pointless, especially because nobody could’ve known he was even giving. He was a ghost, totally passive to what he read and saw. So why didn’t he delete the app? What did he find so interesting now, whereas eight years ago he forgot about his account after a month? What activated the positive feedback loop that kept him there?

The answer is that he didn’t know. Mark still clung to the idea that if he just said the right thing and the right person saw it, it would make all the difference. Who was he waiting for? What could he stand to gain apart from some momentary notoriety?

He didn’t know. He just liked being a part of it.

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