After 20 years of using Facebook, I think I’m getting closer every day to its end—or at least, the end of my daily use with any kind of positive expectation.

It started out as THE main tool for digital communication and connecting with people. I remember how innovative it was to be able to see a person, a photo, and a name with just one click—and immediately they were “friends” and could interact on whatever social level they chose.

Then it transformed into a resource for acquiring new information and exchanging knowledge. This is where news and entertainment outlets, authors, academics, artists, and others came in. A plethora of content to feed the eyes and ears, offering you the daily opportunity to discover SOMETHING that would shape your life.

Toward the end of its functional cycle, employers, companies, and investors used this ecosystem as a business mechanism to grow certain industries that benefited from the digital synergy offered by Zuckerberg.

EVERYTHING was innovative at the time. And we rode that wave from its peak all the way to shore.

Over the past 10 years, Facebook has become one of the main pillars of disinformation in the digital age. It has become increasingly adept at monetizing and empowering those who spread hate speech in all its forms. We see this when educational content or content that serves the common good is buried or simply rendered invisible, in order to prioritize other categories that are not only trivial but also undermine and corrode our humanity and moral character.

Despite all the obvious shortcomings mentioned (plus all the ones I didn’t even bother to recall), I struggle every day with the decision to log in every time I pick up my phone.

How do I find out what happened?

What’s the pointless, trivial debate of the day?

Who moved, got married, or had a baby?

Whose birthday is it today?

All this inner turmoil dissolves within seconds of reading my “feed” and its horrors.

Accounts belonging to people who don’t exist beyond the digital realm, but the platform allows them to masquerade as humans or institutions with a clear role and message.

Their posts are validated by an army of thousands of bots (which also don’t exist—neither in the flesh nor in terms of reasoning ability) that feed the sacred algorithm dictated by the interests and agendas controlling the main discourse.

I’m gradually realizing that many of the arts, film, and niche interest groups I’m part of are moderated by AI agents, and the vast majority of their posts are scheduled at fixed times in a perpetual (or barely changing) loop of content to maintain the metrics for monetized interactions within META’s corporate model.

As a coping strategy, I’ve decided to devote my time here to educating, informing, debunking, and so on.

“I’ll try to contribute to the truth, improve society, build connections with certain communities, share knowledge, and focus on the positive…” Instead of detracting, adding more meaningless content, or simply mocking the ever-growing percentage of people who still believe everything they see on a screen and are gradually eroding what little critical thinking they have left.

This is where I pause and wonder if going through all that trouble would justify my wasted time, because I’ll be taking on the self-assigned role of the “wise paladin of knowledge and common sense.”

Despite having the occasional tool, resource, or privilege that many may not have, I think the greatest realization that sets me apart is accepting that I’m just another fool navigating the turbulent currents of “the early 21st century.”

I don’t ignore my inner conflict, nor do I hide it. I admit that, since most of my followers are on that platform, I have no other practical way to express myself and get my ideas across to them.

I do end up returning to Facebook in search of something honest and real. Disappointment is guaranteed, and besides placing blame on its creator, if I’m being completely true to myself, it’s entirely my own fault.

But I log back in…

To let them know that I appreciate what they post beyond my “likes,” that I think beyond my comments, and that I exist beyond a lengthy complaint recalling a not-so-distant past, when I used that platform to learn new perspectives rather than judge, to connect with other groups rather than isolate myself, to see a new, possible world—and not just the worst of the reality we’re living in.