demoniahorror.com

I haven’t logged in for a while.   

Not because I forgot, and not because I’m “taking a break.” I stepped away on purpose —from different social media platforms, from the whole cycle that feeds on agitation. And the longer I stay out, the clearer the pattern becomes. Should I or should I not feed the trolls on my private life?? 

That question kept circling my mind. It felt honest, vulnerable, and a little exhausted —because the truth is, even asking the personal questions means they’ve already taken up space they don’t deserve. There’s a strange clarity that arrives when you stop feeding the things that feed on you. The social media platforms that “use” you. Stepping away from social media, and the combination has been… Agitating. Unsettling. Restless. Like my brain keeps reaching for a door that no longer exists. 

But here’s the truth I’ve learned in that space: They don’t want dialogue. They want your attention, your stress, your time. They want you to perform with them, to react, to justify, to explain. They want you in the loop with them, even if the loop is miserable. And when you’re raw, when you’re rebuilding your focus, when you’re trying to break two urges at once —that loop is endless. That’s why I stepped back. Not because I’m afraid of them. Not because I can’t handle them. But because I don’t give my nervous system away for free anymore. Provoking me wasn’t just annoying, it was destabilizing. It was pulling me back into the exact sensations I was trying to calm. 

So I set a boundary —a simple one: don’t give them attention while I’m rebuilding my center of gravity, that steady emotional baseline I return to after being provoked. No more rumors or nicknames; we’re all adults. This isn’t forever and it isn’t a moral posture —it’s an act of self‑preservation and sovereignty: a deliberate pause that keeps me from reacting in ways that would only feed the story.

And honestly? It worked. The energy I would’ve spent doom‑scrolling or arguing with bad‑faith actors is now going into writing this. Into making something instead of reacting to noise. Into choosing my own voice over the static. So if you’ve ever felt the same pull, the urge to respond, to defend, to clap back, here’s what I’ve learned: 

You don’t owe anyone access to your attention. 

You don’t have to participate in performances that drain you.   

You don’t have to negotiate with bad faith. 

Stepping away isn’t weakness.  It’s reclamation. 

And I’m choosing to reclaim mine. 

They want attention.  That’s the whole point. Not conversation, not clarity, not connection —just the rush. The moment you look their way, they’ve won. And sometimes it doesn’t stop at provocation. Sometimes it escalates into something else— vague, performative, meant to rattle you. They’re not about you as a person; they’re about the troll’s need to feel powerful for a second. To dominate you. But even when you know that, it still hits the nervous system like a jolt. It still takes something out of you. 

That’s exactly why I stepped back. Not out of fear — out of refusal. Refusal to let strangers with bad intentions dictate my emotional state. Refusal to let manufactured hostility do whatever it pleases. What they want, how they want, when they want. To live on THEIR schedule. Not mine. Refusal to let provocations— empty or otherwise, shape my day. 

And when things got ugly— when the comments stopped being snide and started getting personal, it hit me harder than I wanted to admit. It wasn’t that I believed the lies —it was the violation: strangers rifling through parts of my life that were never theirs. That shock made the choice obvious: I stepped away to stop letting other people’s cruelty set the rhythm of my day. Not because I believed any of it, but because it was aimed at me, at my actual life, at things they had no right to touch. It wasn’t fear. It was intrusion. It was the feeling of people reaching into a space that was never theirs. It was the shock of realizing how casually people will cross lines when they think you’re just a screen name. 

And that’s when I knew I had to step back. Not to hide — but to protect the parts of my life that matter. To stop letting people who don’t know me criticize things they don’t understand. To stop giving my emotional bandwidth to people who treat other humans like objects. That’s what made it personal. And that’s what made the boundary necessary. Seeing those messages aimed at my private life felt like someone opening a window into a room I’d kept closed. It hurt in a way that surprised me, not because the words were true, but because they were aimed at me, at things I care about. I pulled back because I needed to close that window and lock it. When attacks started touching my past, my history, the small things I protect, it stopped being abstract. It became personal intrusion, and I refused to let anonymous anger dictate how I lived. So I set a boundary: no login, no exposure, no bargaining with people who treat real lives like ‘fun and games’. 

P.S. I hope you have a wonderful weekend.