Why Facebook is the worst pub you’ve ever been to

THE abuse hurled at MAFS contestant Davina via social media is vile. As much as I’m appalled at what’s happening on Facebook, I still can’t break my own addiction to it, writes Jill Poulsen.

IF YOU need any further evidence that Facebook is a cesspit look no further than the treatment of this year’s Married at First Sight villain turned victim, Davina Rankin.

Since ‘cheating’ on her husband of about one week on the tele the 26-year-old Queenslander has been inundated with hurtful comments that have ranged from being called every name under the sun to death threats.

Look I have to admit, I get invested in reality TV as much as the next saddie but when you cross over from Avid Watcher to Avid Online Abuser you need to be having a good hard look in the mirror.

That’s without even taking into account that most of us have had more meaningful relationships with our barista than the couples featured on Married at First Sight.

The abuse is so prolific that when I was reading a story about her being harassed and she was quoted as saying “I barely got out of all this alive” people were still commenting on the post saying the way she dressed meant she deserved everything she got.

Davina explains the toll the online abuse has taken on her mental wellbeing. (Pic: Supplied)

My eyes nearly rolled out of my head and, not for the first time, I wondered why I continued to waste my time on Facebook.

All of this online abuse didn’t take place solely on Facebook but it’s Facebook who’s got my goat this week.

I’ll tell you why.

I start my morning the same way every day.

I ignore the sound of Barry White singing Can’t Get Enough of Your Love Baby, which is my alarm, and don’t open my eyes until the sound of my dog impatiently pacing up and down the side of my bed gets too much.

I open my eyes, pat my dog with one hand and grab my phone with the other to check Facebook.

I walk the dog, have breakfast and go back on Facebook while I’m eating.

Arrive at work, Facebook.

Go on lunch, Facebook.

Buy a coffee, Facebook.

Finish work, Facebook.

Spend time with my partner, Facebook.

Go out with friends, Facebook.

I spend so much time on Facebook you’d think Mark Zuckerberg was paying me to be there.

I don’t even do anything on it; I hardly ever post anything on my wall, I just scroll through the newsfeed like a little virtual gargoyle lurking in the shadows.

Occasionally I see something heartwarming or funny but often I see things that make me want to smash my phone in a million pieces.

The innocent looking app somehow holds an addictive power. (Pic: iStock)

My addiction to the social media platform is so insidious I was sure the experts were talking about other people when they described social media addiction.

When I read a news story this week that said people were leaving Facebook by the droves I wished I was one of them.

Apparently young people are the group most likely to delete Facey or never join in the first place.

A recent eMarketer study predicted Facebook would lose more than 2 million users under the age of 24 this year alone.

Some experts say the rise of older people (parents) joining has made it less attractive to young people.

My mum joined Facebook for the first time this year and while I get a little rush of anxiety whenever I see she has commented on something, I’d be far more likely to embarrass myself with an ill-conceived post from a dancefloor at 2am.

So it’s not the parent factor that has got me thinking it’s time to switch off from FB — it’s the utter mindlessness of it.

The incessant ads for things that I have absolutely no use for but all of a suddenly think I need — $42 for a charcoal face mask — bargain, I’ll have two.

The contrived highlight reel of everyone’s life — why aren’t I in the Maldives every second weekend like the rest of my ‘friends’?

Imagine if Facebook was your local pub: it welcomes bullies with open arms, you can’t move without someone trying to sell you something, half the patrons barely know you but they keep showing you pictures of their families and there’s a group of gangsters who have bought a private booth where they’re free to try to interfere in elections.

“It’s time I find a new pub,” you think.

But, like with any addiction, an addict’s odd moment of clarity can be short-lived and you’re sucked back in before you know it.

“Maybe it’s not so bad; the music is good, drinks are cheap, there are some funny people there and it’s where everyone hangs out, I’ll just got for one,” you say.

I’m sadly resigned to the fact that like a billion or so others I probably won’t be switching off Facebook anytime soon.

If you’ve read this and thought “stop whining and just delete it you stupid woman” and you feel the need to tell me that, you know where to find me.

Originally published as Why Facebook is the worst pub you’ve ever been to