Instant Messaging And Schizophrenia

Posted: December 24th, 2009 | Author: miconian | Filed under: Miconian At Large | Tags: blocking, Corey Stachn, courtesy, IM, instant messenger, social contract | Comments

Or: Why I’m Blocking You

I’m signed on to AIM, YIM, and gtalk pretty much every waking second. My friends, family, colleagues, collaborators, and business partners are all used to seeing me show up in their buddy lists every time they turn on their own computers.

So, when I block someone, they know.

I block many people, for short and long periods of time, on a regular basis, for a variety of reasons.

Don’t get me wrong. If you want to get in touch with me online, it’s very easy. I have over 400 friends on Facebook, and over 500 Twitter followers. I blog,  I Stumble, I guest post on sites that interest me, and I comment on other people’s stuff. I even have profiles on LinkedIn and MySpace, just in case someone tries to find me there, even though I’m not really interested in LinkedIn or MySpace. Not to diminish the fact that it’s very easy to reach me on email (the name of this blog AT gmail.com), and even when I’m offline, my iPhone is never far from my side, even when I’m asleep.

But instant messaging is special.

Knowing that I have so many people so readily available for chatting:

• Comforts me, because I never feel completely alone.
• Distracts me, because there’s always someone on my chat list whom I would rather interact with than finish whatever I’m working on.
• Crowds me, because I don’t want all those people sitting in the room with me, all at the same time, even if they’re not saying anything.

Trillian’s little green dots are signs of sentience, like the lights that animate HAL or KITT. When I see your name on my buddy list, it’s not the same as seeing it written in pen on a Rolodex card. Your name on the screen is literally linked to you; if I click on it, I’ll be talking to you. And, in fact, your name might start talking to me of its own volition. Or rather, of your volition. Same difference.

Your name, that is, you, isn’t/aren’t just waiting to talk to me on a screen. You’re on my screen, the screen, the same screen that is showing me my private email, and the essay that I’m working on, and porn.

What are you doing there? It’s strange to see you there, next to that essay, because I’m not yet ready for you to see it. In fact, it might be more or less about you, and I therefore need to pretend that you’ll never see it if I want to get it finished. Or maybe I’m just not in the mood to talk to you right now.

Yes, I could close the whole application. But don’t you see, it’s not that I’m not in the mood to chat with anyone, it’s that I’m not in the mood to chat with you.

That’s allowed, right? Should I really have to justify it? Surely, as cuddly as I am, there are times when you’re not in the mood to talk to me either. And surely, during some of those times, you have found yourself online, going about your business, saw my name suddenly pop up, and thought Jesus Christ, what does that annoying motherfucker want now?

I understand that, really I do. In fact, sometimes the reason I’m blocking you isn’t to avoid you at all; it’s to help you avoid me. Maybe I’ve noticed (or just imagined) that, the last thirty-six times I chatted you, your responses were a bit chilly, a bit curt. And yet, perhaps because you are such a giving person, or perhaps out of a misplaced sense of professional or filial or fraternal duty, you are still there, your light still green in my list. I see it, and I sense your discomfort. I can tell that you are not really happy being there, that you would much rather hide behind the other names. As I scroll through the list, I can see you wincing during the three or four seconds that you are visible in the window. And so, to make it easier on you, to show you that I understand, really, it’s cool, I’m not like that, I go ahead and do the thing that I know you wish you could have done yourself. I block you. And, it’s implied, you sigh with relief when you realize that I have done so. And then, day after day, observing your absence from the list, feeling our palpable lack of communication, I can feel our relationship improving; I can feel your trust in me growing. He gets it, you’re thinking. He understands. And then, the next time you see me, you’ll greet me with a warm smile. Finally, we’ll be on the same page.

It’s not a coincidence that cybernetic groupthink and personalities-as-software are such a common ideas in popular fiction. The Borg, the Matrix, the Dollhouse. Users of Ask Metafilter refer to their own community as “the hive mind,” and this is not really a joke, so much as wishful thinking expressed as metaphor. We want the hive mind to happen; we want to communicate with each other – with everyone – directly and flawlessly, sending packets of information wrapped in empathy, receiving them graciously. Truly seeing each other. No more misunderstandings between people, only one big problem, the problem of why and how to live, and henceforth we can all work on that one together. Maybe at that point, the answer will be obvious.

Some of us want that to happen, anyway. I often do.

But we’re not there yet. Oh, we’re sadly so far away. I often think of the Bene Gesserrit reverend mothers of Dune, each of their minds a vessel for the minds of all the generations of women that came before them, watching their lives, offering their advice, the benefit of their experience.

How empowering. And yet, how horribly annoying, if the one person who actually controls the body in question never gets the chance to sit there by herself and decide, finally, exactly what to do with it.

One of the best things about the online world, to me, is its capacity for many-to-many, at-your-own-pace communication. If you want to reply to this post, you can do so, right now, or next week, or next year. And you’ll get an answer, sooner or later, and it may not even be from me, but really, does that matter? So few issues need actually be personal. So few actually are.

For every discussion that I have, especially every disagreement about some general principle, I find myself thinking: is this unique to me, or is it a universal question? And, if it is universal, then why am I, specifically, wrestling with it? And if I, specifically, must wrestle with it, then why must I do so privately, thus dooming millions of other people to have the exact, or very similar, conversation again, shortening all our lives? Shouldn’t the discussion be happening online? Isn’t it, most likely, already happening on line, and shouldn’t we just be joining in? I mean, is the idea to actually get anywhere as a civilization in aggregate, or is the idea just to talk?

I often feel this way when talking to people, in person, one on one. But I feel it even more when IMing, maybe because the words in the chat are so close, within my visual field, to the platform that could show them to millions.

Each advance in communications technology carries with it a new set of questions about courtesy. How soon must one reply to a question sent by mule? By train? By telegram? By a network that delivers the question instantly, implicitly confirms receipt, and then makes it hover in front of the recipient’s face?

If you IM me, I don’t feel like you have sent me a letter, or left me a voicemail. I feel like you have just appeared right in front of me (because, in a sense, you have). And I’m not sure I want you in front of me right now. I mean, I just saw you the other day, remember? Isn’t this a bit intense? I mean, next time, call first, you know?

Or maybe, even though we’re friends, you have the unfortunate habit of saying things that make me fly into fits of rage.

No, of course you didn’t mean to. Yes, of course it’s all in my head.

Yes, clearly this is something that I need to work on.

And I will. By myself.

And that is why I’m blocking you.

Sorry.

 

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KITT interface update by Corey Stachn.

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