This week I posted some furniture items on Facebook Marketplace. It was very routine; something I’d done scores of times in the past. But something in the posts upset Facebook’s bots and I got an email telling me that I had “violated its advertising policies”. Which was clearly bullshit, but there is no way to talk to Facebook’s bots. Within a minute I got another email telling me my account had been suspended. So in an instant my entire Facebook account was wiped, along with Messenger and all my contacts. Gone. Completely. I was now gone from Facebook. I had lost access, among other things, to the group I administered, which has 40,000 members. The email said I might be able to appeal, but first I had to upload a selfie-video to prove my identity. Given that Facebook had already insisted a few years ago that I verify my account (because, as a former journalist I could influence opinions), I decided to stop jumping through its hoops. What follows is my farewell note to Facebook: an epitaph to what had become, in my view, an abusive relationship.

By the time you get this note – assuming you find it – I’ll have moved on. And this time I won’t be coming back. I want you to know it isn’t me, it’s you. You’ve changed and I don’t like what you’ve become.

To be honest, I’ve been thinking about breaking it off for a while now, but your latest little tantrum made up my mind for me. You slammed the door on me, and I guess you thought I’d come crawling back, desperate to win your approval. But you know what? I actually feel a bit relieved to know that you aren’t going to be in my life anymore. You with your capricious, petty little ways. You are such a dictator, you know that? Everything has to be your way and you never listen to a word anybody says. It’s always you making the rules and demanding everybody follow without question, even when the rules are stupid – which is usually.

You and I used to share so many friends but for ages now you’ve made it clear you don’t want me seeing my friends. You hide their messages from me and you try to make me go places that make you happy, but where I don’t want to go. Those videos of women with farm animals . . . what the hell were you thinking showing me that stuff?

It was so good in the beginning. We used to have so much fun. I guess that’s why it’s been so hard for me to say goodbye. I realised a while back that you never planned to keep all the promises you made me when I first started seeing you. You stopped respecting me and staying with you was making me lose some of my self-respect. But I felt trapped, hoping against hope that some of the magic might return. And I admit I loved the buzz of approval I got when you liked and shared some of the things I had to say. But in the end even that felt hollow.

When you started running with that sleazy crew you seem to love so much these days I felt physically sick. You seem to think that money and power trump honesty and decency. Like I said, for a long time now I’ve been asking myself why I stayed. Mainly for the friends we still had in common. I liked them so much more than I liked you, and I’ll be sorry to lose them. And the way you’ve tried to stop my family from seeing me: honestly, you’re a vicious piece of work. What kind of shit-head would burn all of somebody’s family correspondence, going back years?

Let’s face facts: you’re a dried-out husk of what you used to be. Nothing is fun with you anymore. It’s all about sleaze and money. And I’ve seen you caught out lying and cheating so many times I can’t even count. I know you. You are black-hearted and rotten to the core.

So when you decided just now to take offence at some innocent thing I did and slam your door on me with no discussion – as usual – I knew that this time it was really over. Sure, you’ve asked me before, now and then, to prove myself in this way and that way and up until now I’ve complied. You’d play nice if I gave you what you wanted, you said. But you never did. You always wanted more proof. I realised I could never be good enough in your eyes – not for long anyway. Sooner or later you’d be locking the door again, demanding some new proof before you’d let me back in.

So here we are. You’ve taken everything we made together over the years as your own and pushed me out in the cold as if I never existed. You tell me that maybe you’ll let me back in if I grovel hard enough and send you a sad little selfie, showing how much I’m suffering without you.

Well screw you Facebook. This time it’s over. Stick your selfie where it fits. I’m done with you, for good.

As a parting gift here’s a couple of songs I’d like to dedicate to you.

---