5 stages of grief as my Instagram gets suspended

I had the spookiest start to my Halloween when Instagram notified me that I had somehow violated their mysterious community guidelines and my account was suspended. This fiasco taught me more about human nature and the stages of grief than my sophomore philosophy course, but that might also have been because I was mostly sleeping during the classes.

Denial

When Instagram gave me instructions to enter verification codes, I placed my faith in it. I followed everything they asked me to do. My account would be back any second now. I just had to wait. So, I waited, and I waited. This is how Nawab Siraj-ud-daula must have felt when he was waiting for Mir Zafar to join him at the battle of Plassey.

Anger

An eternity passed, and I had not heard back from Instagram. It was beginning to dawn on me that my account wasn't coming back. After all these years on social media, I finally got zucc'ed, and for no reason. I was growing angrier by the second, I wanted to pull Zuckberberg by the collars of his human suit, bring out the lizard that's hiding inside and kick him to Mars. Maybe Elon Musk could join him there and they would fight each other for control, and our planet Earth would be rid of both of them.

Bargaining

I was now desperate. There had to be alternatives – I could go on Facebook. I logged in, and was immediately flooded by more ads than when you click a fishy link to download a fishy video. Then I saw a bunch of people vehemently discussing how terrible the Gen-Z is and how there is no hope for the world, under a satire article. I decided to nope out of there. I thought about Twitter, and I remembered it was now owned by wannabe Batman whose arc is inching closer to the Joker every day. I decided to nope out of there too.

Depression

There were no other alternatives to Instagram for me. How was I supposed to look at curated Reddit, TikTok, Tumblr, and Twitter content if Instagram was gone? I would be lost like a lone chicken flapping around in Jhigatola bus stand. I thought of all the carefully picked out photos I had posted over the years, and all the interesting accounts I was following. How would I find them all even if I made a new account? What was I supposed to do with my life now?  

Acceptance

\Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. I would have so much free time. I decided not to make another Instagram account. Sure, I liked taking photos. I could buy a film camera and darkroom equipment so I could print photos myself and hang them on a wall in my apartment. Everything was going to be okay. I was finally at peace.

Then I got my Instagram back, and I have been scrolling non-stop for the last 39 hours.

Moneesha R Kalamder has been on social media since 1950. Send help at mkalamder@gmail.com.