I am a slave

Adriana Leboss
2 min readNov 12


And there i was, on a beautiful Sunday morning, sending desperate messages to Instagram, begging whomever might be reading them to lift the resctrictions they have imposed on my page and give me back the liberty to interact as much as I wished. As if they were God. As if they were dieties.

Never in my life had I begged anyone for mercy. Not even my mom when I was grounded and deprived of candy.

I was desperately Googling resctictions and finding much-needed solace in the misery of fellow restricted and banned slaves. (Thank God i wasnt banned!) But… What if Instagram never sets me free? What if i am doomed to be restricted in my actions until the end of time?

Will i have to surrender to my fate and keep posting silent, captionless photos? But how will i be able to share all the anecdotes that are woven into each trinket and toy that i share with my audience? Will I ever be able to follow my followers back and like their photos? How will they know that I genuinely care if i can’t?


And suddenly i felt so ashamed. I looked down on myself and felt so sorry for what i've become. I am a slave to the algorithmic overlords. A marionette, dancing to the tune of follows, pulled by the strings of tiny flowing hearts and comments of praise.

Damn you, social media. What have you done?!

Settings and privacy. Scroll down. Help.