Lurking: the unfollow that wasn’t

I started this journey years ago with no real expectations—just me, sharing my experience with the void. Writing has always been my therapy. It helps me process, release, and move forward. Some people meditate. Me? I write.

And in all these years of putting my thoughts into words, I’ve noticed some fascinating things. But one phenomenon stands out above the rest: lurking.

Oh yes. The fine art of loudly announcing their exit, hitting unfollow with theatrical flair—only to lurk from the shadows, keeping tabs without ever engaging. It’s equal parts baffling and wildly entertaining. And, if we’re being honest, a little predictable.

Because why do people do this?

The psychology is fascinating. Lurking is rooted in curiosity, control, and, sometimes, a sprinkle of unresolved feelings. It’s like dramatically slamming the door on your way out of a party, then peeking through the window to see if anyone noticed.

Silence is engagement. The brain knows that. And so, the lurker lurks.

Which brings me to Leprechaun Larry—the reigning champion of backhanded compliments, the king of passive-aggressive commentary, and the undisputed master of the dramatic exit.

Larry and the burner account support group

And up until now, Larry has been very committed to pretending I don’t exist—except for that grand, chest-puffed unfollow.

Which is why it’s hilarious that after all that noise, he’s been lurking this whole time… from a burner account.

At first, I didn’t notice. Why would I? If someone removes themselves from my space, goodbye, good luck. But then… something weird started happening.

It started as a tiny curiosity—a single, no-name account with zero original posts that felt… off. Watching my stories. Keeping up with my every move.

And then the detective work began. A few clicks here, a little scrolling there, and suddenly, I was deep in a rabbit hole.

Thirty minutes later, I uncovered four more accounts just like it. Suspiciously identical, eerily synchronized.

The funniest part? They all follow each other. It’s like a weird little burner-account support group. A network of fake profiles cheering each other on in the shadows. Even more weird? They all follow their own real life accounts. Grown……. men.

And then it clicked.

Oh. Ohhhh.

Larry, is that you?

The “passive” in passive aggressive has left the chat

The thing about lurking? It’s about control. It’s about staying in the loop without being seen, maintaining a presence without participation. A silent seat at the table, a fly on the wall.

But what happens when curiosity outlasts conviction? The story they thought they had neatly closed? Still unfolding. And they can’t look away. Honestly, I’m flattered.

Apparently, they keep watching.

And that’s interesting.

Lurking: A full-time job with no pay

People lurk because they’re still invested. They don’t want to engage because that would require admitting they still care. So they ghost-follow. They fake-account-follow. They creep.

Because here’s the truth: unresolved feelings don’t just vanish. Whether it’s resentment, curiosity, admiration, the brain wants closure. And when it doesn’t get it? It lingers.

Larry, buddy. If you really didn’t care, you’d log off and touch some grass. Instead, you’re over here treating my account like it’s the morning paper.

I don’t get it because, truth be told, I’m not that exciting. My personal drama is about as rare as a quiet day on the internet—so basically, never. I don’t have ongoing feuds with anyone—at least, not that I know of. But hey, maybe there’s a secret rivalry happening that no one bothered to tell me about.

So what’s the deal? Larry, what’s the deal? *Athena….amused…… tapping fingers on desktop*

What happens now?

Now? Well nothing.

But let’s make this a PSA for all the lurking Larrys out there:

If you must keep tabs on me, at least do it with your real account. I promise, I don’t bite—well, not unless provoked and even then, I always try to be kind. Honestly? I actually appreciate the support. I’ve always been a fan of conversation, even with people who don’t always share my views. Let’s skip the cloak-and-dagger shit and just be friends. I bet we’d get along better than you think.

Because I’m still here.

And, funny enough, so are you *grin*.