Chaloner Woods/Getty Images
Chaloner Woods/Getty Images

The time is now. Everybody in Hollywood is coming out of the closet with their long-kept-hidden secrets and now it's my turn. It's just been eating away at me the past few months and there's nights I even lose sleep over it, staying up to watch the same evening's re-run of E! News. I suffer from social media FOMO (Fear of Missing Out). I AM a FOMie.


I had friends in town visiting over the President's Day weekend and we had an absolute blast, but I felt a growing void inside me. I'm sitting at dinner on Sunday evening and it dawned on me that it was SUNDAY! The one night a week this TV junkie definitely does not miss. The Walking Dead. The Real Housewives of Atlanta. Keeping Up With the Kardashians. 60 Minutes.

I know, I'm eclectic. But, I was missing all of my shows. The shows that sustain my social media life. The shows that grow my Twitter following, the shows that allow me to post snarky Facebook statuses thus getting more Facebook notifications (because, really, what else is its purpose these days).
At the same time, I had the great company of my friends right in front of me, as well as a stiff passion fruit mojito. I began to fidget and check my phone to make sure I still had likes and comments streaming in. Or worse, losing Twitter followers because they're so use to my #TheWalkingDead #RHOA #60Minutes #KUWTK hashtag routine. This balance of reality and virtual reality is almost as tough as lunch time in high school when I had to choose between sitting with the kids who could finish my homework or the kids who were planning senior skip days.


I was burdened with this social flaw at just 13 years old when I was about to tackle my formative high school years. Hailing from the tech-obsessed generation, my fear dates back to the Myspace Top 8 days (you could never please everybody, still can’t). That kind of pressure to rank your friends then face them at school was just the pits. Since then, I’ve had to juggle Sunday family dinners but make sure a TV was nearby so I could simultaneously watch the Grammys. Or be at a nightclub, take a selfie at the club then repeatedly check my Instagram to make sure likes were in the double digits (it’s so embarrassing when they’re not).

To feel better about myself, I reached out to other FOMies. The first being my friend Dan, a 24-year-old recent college grad who’s still clinging on to his frat party ways. He told me, “A man can only accomplish freedom by making love to happiness. And what makes me happy is not missing out on keggers.” I would agree but I prefer vodka, not beer. But there might be hope for recovery after talking to my 25-year-old friend Julliana, who claims responsibilities were the driving factor in leaving behind her FOMO. She admits, “I am currently recovering from FOMO since I am a Leo and I love a good party. To think others had fun and I wasn’t there wasn’t acceptable.” But what if I feel my responsibility is to be at the pulse of every event, thus, perpetuating my fomosexuality?

I guess I just like to be everywhere, at all times. Physically, mentally, virtually. If I don’t know what’s going on up-to-the-minute in pop culture or I’m not invited to a party or my friends check-in to fun places I can’t be at on Facebook, I just don’t know what to do.

But, now that I’ve admitted my infatuation with omnipresence, I want to thank my family, friends, and loved ones for their continued support (and constant perpetuation of my FOMO by liking all my photos). You guys are my FOMies for life.

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