My Name is Anastasia, and I am Addicted to my iPhone

Separating myself from what harms me

About a week ago I transformed my iPhone. Before I tell you what I did, I’ll tell you what I’ve been struggling with.

I don’t know how many of you are Gen X— officially, I think, I’m an elder millennial, but I grew up spending a lot of time alone, and I watched a lot of television. I also read a lot of books; many of them pulpy YA books with rigid gender ideals and many beautiful and popular characters.

Media has been influencing the way I think since I was very young, and I have, for a long time, thought of myself as someone who has an addiction to television and media. As a kid, television kept me alive. As an adult, it can be fun and even intellectually stimulating, but I can get sucked into vapid reality TV more easily that I’d like to admit.

For me, television is beer. A nice, cold beer at the end of the day. And my phone, with its social media apps and constant pinging and ringing, is like little bumps of cocaine and vodka, all day, every day.