Facebook Comments: Where Souls Go To Die

I know better. I do. I see an article posted on Facebook by NPR or some other news source and I tell myself, "Don't read the comments. Don't even look at them. You know you shouldn't read the comments."

And then I read the comments. Every. Damn. Time.
This all started with the Hobby Lobby decision by the Supreme Court in early July. It wasn't a case I was even following closely. And then the Supreme Court ruled that, evidently, corporations are people with
"sincerely held religious beliefs" and those beliefs are--apparently--more important than women's health care choices.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is when I went batshit crazy.

I mean it; I read the comments on some articles posted by NPR and other sources and I lost my mind. Suddenly, I was raging. And commenting on everything. To everyone. A lot.

Think I'm exaggerating? Let me paint you a picture of the depths of my blackout rage. I couldn't sleep the night I learned of the case because I tossed and turned and seethed. I checked and rechecked posts online so I could comment, refute, and basically ridicule those who apparently do not understand the way contraception works. I got into a pretty passionate argument with one of my husband's friends about whether or not IUDs are valid forms of contraception. After arguing with him about IUDs, I got so angry I went to my doctor and got one (and let me tell you about that special kind of pain) and then secretly enjoyed feeling like I was sticking it to Hobby Lobby.

Crazy.

And the worst part was, I knew better than to continue to read the comments. I knew it'd make me angry. And sometimes, I could control myself... I'd read comments and I'd feel my heart rate increase, but I'd be okay. But then, I'd see the phrase "16 out of 20" (referring to the fact Hobby Lobby still covers 16 of the 20 FDA-approved forms of contraception). I see that phrase and it's like a switch flips in my brain and, I swear, I blackout. Twenty minutes later I come to my senses to see I've commented on about 17 different posts, most of them angry and mocking, and I'm left with a vague sense of shame but a stronger sense of righteous indignation.

Since the Hobby Lobby case unleashed this beast in me, several other posts have also brought out this ugly side, including:
* how vaccines cause autism (it hurts just to type that)
* how a man letting his three year old son wear a dress is going to turn him gay (dresses carry gay-germs)
* why the Washington Redskins name isn't actually racist (it was nice to learn about what racism is from lots of supercilious white men)
* why rape isn't really a problem (real post: "It's a FACT that skimpy clothes cause rape"),
* why it is completely acceptable for police to shoot (or choke) unarmed black men (another good place to learn about racism from white men),
* why sexism isn't really an issue anymore and men are the real victims (I... I just can't even with that one).
Each of these, at some point, produced a blackout-commenting session.

No, I cannot just walk away.

I know I should. I know I am not doing any good and that I should just let people think what they want. But I can't. Please understand, it's not that I won't. It's a physical thing. I am physically incapable of walking away. I promise, there's actual pain involved. If I could, I'd be less stressed, less depressed about the state of our world. And I'd spend a lot less time following my husband around the house, ranting about what stupid people said on the internet, haranguing him even though--he assures me--he is actually on my side.

I know I shouldn't read the comments because I know what's going to happen. It's going to be 1 am and I'm going to be furiously commenting away, wishing I could sleep, but vaguely worried that someone is going to say something racist/sexist/homophobic and I won't be there to ridicule/correct/relentlessly mock. I'm not sure what will happen if I allow these comments out into the world and just go to bed, but I'm pretty sure it's something awful. Catastrophic. Like maybe that's what caused the earthquake in San Francisco this weekend. And I've got to stop that.

It's a dirty job, but someone has got to do it.

You're welcome.





(Disclaimer: to avoid the impression that I am nuts and don't make sound medical decisions, please rest assured my decision  about getting an IUD was a sound decision made with my doctor and that sticking it to Hobby Lobby was only a small--albeit enjoyable--part of my decision...)

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