I took an Instagram hiatus in April 2021. When I did, I explained in my requisite “taking a break!” post that I needed to go be lost. What that post didn’t say was that I was really, really fucked up, and I needed to be that in private. The post also didn’t mention that being extremely fucked up, and feeling like you are still supposed to manage the veneer of your life so that you don’t lose your career, was fucked squared.
When I came back to Instagram in December of last year it was with trepidation, disinterest, and some insane idea that too much time had passed and that I Owed It To The Internet, or to my career, to once again slap on Instagram. 2021 was by all accounts the entire worst year of my life—and this includes the year I pretended not to be drunk during the workday (when I was) and racked up $10,000 in credit card debt on California Pizza Kitchen. By last December, even though I’d taken that long extended break from Instagram and really being any kind of an effective hum…