Control
Social Media Is Used to Control People
Social media was supposed to connect us. Somewhere along the way, it started collecting us.
I post random things on purpose. A photo of my coffee. A line from Rilke. A blurry sunset. Nothing that matters. Because I’ve noticed: information just sits there. It doesn’t disappear. It waits. It watches. And it’s used.
The churches are on Facebook.
The pastors, the leaders, the small group admins. They say it’s for prayer requests and livestream. But it’s also surveillance. They see who liked the post. Who didn’t show up Sunday but was online Saturday night. Who’s friends with who. Who left the church but still watches the stories. It’s a digital pew, and they’re taking attendance. What used to be fellowship became a popularity contest gone bad. Who gets the most “Amens” in the comments? Who gets ignored? We perform holiness now in 1080p and wait for the algorithm to say we’re blessed.
The ads know what time it is.
Notice it. During the day, the ads are soft. Self-care. Meal kits. “You deserve this.” At night, they shift. Payday loans. Betting apps. Rehab centers. Insecurity in a shopping cart. The algorithm knows when you’re lonely. When you’re tired. When your willpower is down and your credit card is close. That’s not marketing. That’s manipulation. That’s control dressed as convenience.
Never put your company or personal information.
Because it’s not yours once it’s there. Your birthday becomes a data point. Your job becomes a target market. Your kid’s school picture becomes a geotag. We hand it over for free and call it sharing. Then we wonder why we feel so watched.
Mental health and police monitor social media.
They’ll tell you it’s for safety. For “wellness checks.” For “public interest.” And sometimes it is. But it’s also a file. A post from 2014 can be pulled in 2026. A bad day with the wrong words can get you a visit, a hold, a case number. I’ve lived it. I know people who have too. We talk about mental health online, then get punished for being honest about it online. The same platforms that sell you therapy ads will flag you to the system that says you’re a risk.
Notice the two people that did the Empire stint.
All their belongings never were returned. Held for “evidence.” Their lives scraped off the internet and into a folder. Social media wasn’t just their stage — it became their crime scene. Every post, every like, every DM turned into exhibit A. That’s the part they don’t tell you: the internet never forgets, and it never lets you forget either. Your phone is a witness that never stops testifying.
So I post random. On purpose.
A tree. A quote. Static.
Because if they’re going to monitor me, they’re going to be bored.
If they’re going to control me, they’ll have to do it without my help.
Social media is a mirror and a cage. It reflects us back to ourselves, then sells the reflection. It connects us, then corrects us. It frees us, then files us.
I’m not paranoid. I’m paying attention.
The most rebellious thing you can do online now is be uninteresting. Be unmarketable. Be untargeted.
Log off. Touch grass. Call someone from a landline.
Say something real to a real person, where no one can like it, share it, or subpoena it.
Because the only way to win a popularity contest is to stop entering.
And the only way to not be controlled is to stop giving them the controls.
