Why I Keep Falling In and Out Of Love With Twitter

I love informing the world of my every brain fart but the trolls are driving me away... yet I can't help myself from crawling back. Anyone else?
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I love informing the world of my every brain fart but the trolls are driving me away... yet I can't help myself from crawling back. Anyone else?

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Okay, in spite of being a long-term Twitter addict… I did it… again. I pressed the Twitter deactivate button like the big red flashing 'START WAR’ button in a Harrison Ford movie. My reasons for doing this have been bubbling under the surface for a while, so I thought it would do me good to try and spell them out with letters and punctuation. Rather than my usual interpretive dance, which seems to lose its impact via the internet.

Let me just say first of all, I LOVE Twitter. It wasn't love at first sight mind you, I didn't quite 'get it' under my first guise, which, inspiringly, was my real name. I persevered like a tiny-hooved mountain goat attempting to reach a Tracker bar that a passing rambler had dropped from his backpack down a moss-covered crevasse.

Poor Suz didn't really know what she was doing, she told Twitter about what type of bread she was eating, posted links to songs that made her sway like a drunk monkey at a Sandals resort and generally bored the tits off of anyone that had the misfortune of reading her musings. So I binned her and Twitter, deeming the whole thing as too difficult, no fun and a big smelly bum face. I ran back into the open, pokey arms of Facebook, gently fingering its 'like' button, whispering I'd never leave its safety again...

I persevered like a tiny-hooved mountain goat attempting to reach a Tracker bar that a passing rambler had dropped from his backpack down a moss-covered crevasse

A few months passed and a real-life friend and Twitter fan told me to start it up again, insisting it was the perfect place for me to be. A new approach was required, so I decided to tweet the brain farts that inhabit my medulla, all the strange thoughts, the thoughts I was too shy to ever say to anyone in the real world in case they came at me with pepper spray and alerted the services.

Soon 'biscuits' was pushed screaming through Twitters dilating cervix. She was a filthy filly whose nipple obsession and use of the word ‘cock’ got her some followers and she began to see the enjoyment Twitter could bring. Not just for the fact you can say what you like without family members worrying that you'd been drinking the Windowlene again, but for the amazing people you meet on there. Talented, wonderful, funny and downright lovely people who made you feel part of something, no matter how irrelevant it is in the grand scheme of things.

Sadly, the new followers also brought trolls, individuals that dwell under bridges with good wi-fi connection and a hatred for anyone that reminds them of their evil mothers who denied them love.

The next bit may come as a shock to some of you that only know me via Twitter, I'm actually pretty shy and don't deal with confrontation very well. This goes against everything my Scottish kinsfolk have taught me, and they'd remove my haggis badge from my lapel and Irn-Bru well from my garden if they ever found out. It’s true though, in real life confrontations I get sweaty hands, pains in my legs and my eyes react like they're wearing contact lenses made from shallots.

I decided to tweet the brain farts that inhabit my medulla, all the strange thoughts, the thoughts I was too shy to ever say to anyone in the real world

I tried my best to ignore the jibes and the hurtful comments that were tweeted at me just to get a reaction, but get to me they did and I'm not afraid to say it. Anyway, after one too many negative tweets I binned Biscuits too, and her and her filthy ways were relegated to Google search echoes, her dirty whispers hanging on the internet like tassels from a Spearmint Rhino employee’s nipple.

Months went by, and I didn't give Twitter a second thought, real life had dealt me a bad hand and I was trying to perfect my best 'everything’s okay' poker face to keep mentally afloat. As things calmed down and my life started to even out and deal me some aces I decided, one last try, once a tweeter always a tweeter. Fumble was pushed onto the twitter stage, blinking in the lights, ready to do it like it was meant to be done, firmly, with purpose and wild abandon, the same way I like to tackle the 50p rides outside supermarkets.

I loved my new timeline, made of creative, wonderfully funny, talented brilliance that filled me with joy and a tiny bit of jealously. How did some of the people come up with their tweets? It amazed me. I felt intimidated by some but as time went on I realised, you know what, I'm actually ok at Twitter. I wasn't solving the debt crisis, or waxing the hair from Susan Boyle’s body to make wigs for disadvantaged children in India, but you know what, I'm actually okay at twitter.

I trundled along for a year, punning, photoshopping and enjoying being part of a Twitter extended family that I didn't wish would shut up and just get out of my house. The odd troll would come along to try and bring me down a peg or two, but this time I dealt with any negativity by blithely photoshopping Brian Blessed in numerous guises.

I wasn't solving the debt crisis, or waxing the hair from Susan Boyle’s body to make wigs for disadvantaged children in India, but you know what, I'm actually okay at twitter

Then, in the last couple of months, a few of these trolls and dramas have really got to me – one episode I was told about involved a popular tweeter waxing lyrical about what a bitch I was, despite never speaking to me, never following me or vice versa. They flounced off Twitter blaming me, their followers sending me hateful tweets, for them only to return a few days later to mass admiration for their ‘strength’ throughout this horrible time.

The assumption that my trolls seemed to pick on was that I have nothing else in my life, which is so very wrong. I have a fantastic job that I used to only dream about, great friends, and lots of love in my life. Just because someone tweets a lot in comparison to your vacuous "watching Pop Idol, lol" “I love Bieber ROFLMAO” tweets doesn't mean they have nothing else.

Quite the opposite in fact, I find Twitter has helped me with my career, my creativity is always put to the test whether its photoshopping the Queen in a rubber dingy or writing my nightly odes, both switch my brain on which helps with my creative career.

So this particular week was a tough one, I thought my little companion pug, Dilbo was going to have to get put down, I was emotional, I admit it, and no I wasn't attracting bears with my womanly hemoglobin, I was just emotional due to thought of losing my little buddy.

I find Twitter has helped me with my career, my creativity is always put to the test

Along comes a random tweeter pulling me up for how often I tweet, he’d even taken the time to do a calculation, which was strangely impressive. I should have ignored it, but I didn't, I responded, then got upset, and pushed that red flashing button as Harrison stood above me with a set of helicopter keys and a fake passport.

Any other day I would have called him a cuntbubble and carried on with tweeting about my lumpy milkshake bringing cheese makers to my yard, but he picked the day I was at a low ebb. He was the final straw in a poorly constructed dwelling not even fit for a swine. I did regret my hasty decision, but a timeout was required and he just helped me on my way.

I was gone for a full 7 days, it takes longer to get rid of a dose of thrush, but I reasoned with myself that I shouldn’t deny something that I truly enjoy (Twitter not thrush). Twitter has given me the confidence to try new things, I'd never have attempted writing anything more than a ditty about a woman from Nantucket without Twitter and I'd never have met the creative people that I now count as close friends.

If this was an episode of Jerry Springer, I’d be perched on a wooden stool, looking into the camera with my best sincere face on right now. It’s not, so I’ll finish by saying this, Twitter is a fantastic place if you don’t take it too seriously, ignore the trolls (they’re still reeling from the fact that Tamagotchis took their place in the nation’s hearts) and above all just have fun with it.

At the end of the day, it’s just a fucking website innit!?!

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