A while ago, I did a major "spring cleaning" on QQ—deleting many so-called "friends." I call them "friends," but they were more like strangers on a list. Cleaning up my friend list felt like clearing out dusty clutter from a corner of the room, discarding those contact details that were nothing but placeholders. Most of them were people I added on some countless occasion, and after that, there was nothing but emptiness. They just lay quietly in my friend list, taking up space, like old things I couldn't bear to throw away yet were completely useless, even a bit annoying to look at. Opening QQ and seeing these "friends" didn't give me any sense of comfort; those names were utterly unfamiliar to me, and I'm sure I was the same to them. Since we never really got close, why occupy space in each other's lists?I also left many QQ groups. This inspiration excuse came from a recent comment by TIM from Media Storm: "In today's fast-paced society, do we really need to know that much?" It made me think—are these groups really useful to me? Endless chats, arguments, cringey and tactless comments... they just clutter my mind. I really don't need to fill my life with so much irrelevant noise. My QQ list got a lot shorter, much cleaner, didn't it?I've always had some social anxiety and been a bit of a loner. I dislike strangers suddenly adding me as a friend, and I resist these unfounded friend requests—the other person is neither a friend nor has any formal business with me; they just take up space in my friend list for no reason. I often regret accepting a friend request: I don't really want to connect with them. Socializing is sometimes a puzzle for me; strangers suddenly barging into my world makes me feel at a loss, even a bit repulsed. I dislike the forced small talk and politeness, because I know we won't become real friends.Not long ago, I was playing on a Minecraft server with a fairly close online friend. There were only the two of us on the server, and we chatted casually. He suddenly said with emotion, "I deleted QQ, so I don't have to obsessively check every little thing on it anymore." When I heard that, I was stunned. I understood that feeling all too well: constantly opening QQ, morbidly checking if anyone had messaged me, if there were new group messages, as if I were expecting something, or just habitually seeking validation. That friend said he deleted QQ and no longer compulsively stared at it, and I was deeply envious. This obsession with socializing is like an addiction—knowing that most of the time nothing will happen, yet still unable to resist opening the phone again and again, just to see that lonely "0 new messages"...My mindset has always been quite contradictory: on one hand, I often feel lonely and crave companionship and more social interaction; on the other hand, I'm tired and repulsed by superficial small talk and ineffective socializing. I crave connection, yet I always resist excessive contact—it's like an ironic paradox. Whenever I feel extremely lonely, I desperately want someone to chat with me, as if that would prove I'm still alive. But when someone (especially someone I don't know well) actually starts talking to me, my guard goes up and I feel drained—I want to escape or end the conversation. It's like there are two versions of me living inside: one afraid of being swallowed by loneliness, and the other afraid of being drowned by socializing. This tug-of-war is exhausting, and I know why I need to delete those people to lighten my load. The emotional pendulum swings between the desire for connection and the fear of socializing, leaving me unsure of what I really want. Deleting those irrelevant contacts at least reduces the burden of dealing with them when I'm in a bad mood; but when I crave communication, facing an empty friend list, I have to accept a reality: they never needed me, yet I always long for someone to understand me.Since then, I've come to understand a truth: instead of filling my life with the insincere pleasantries of countless acquaintances, it's better to carefully nurture a few genuine relationships, even if they are few. The quality of social connections matters far more than quantity—a simple truth I've only now truly grasped. I've always feared loneliness, yet I've always refused to settle. Those moments of not settling have shaped who I am now: my friend list is clean, and the people around me are few.But the most regrettable thing is that what's lost is never those "mediocre connections," but the past that can never return.
The Black Note of Social Purge
A while ago, I did a major "spring cleaning" on QQ—deleting many so-called "friends." I call them "friends," but they were more like strangers on a list. Cleaning up my friend list felt like clearing out dusty clutter from a corner of the room, discarding those contact details that were nothing but placeholders. Most of them were people I added on some countless occasion, and after that, there was nothing but emptiness. They just lay quietly in my friend list, taking up space, like old things I couldn't bear to throw away yet were completely useless, even a bit annoying to look at. Opening QQ and seeing these "friends" didn't give me any sense of comfort; those names were utterly unfamiliar to me, and I'm sure I was the same to them. Since we never really got close, why occupy space in each other's lists?
I also left many QQ groups. This inspiration
excusecame from a recent comment by TIM from Media Storm: "In today's fast-paced society, do we really need to know that much?" It made me think—are these groups really useful to me? Endless chats, arguments, cringey and tactless comments... they just clutter my mind. I really don't need to fill my life with so much irrelevant noise. My QQ list got a lot shorter, much cleaner, didn't it?I've always had some social anxiety and been a bit of a loner. I dislike strangers suddenly adding me as a friend, and I resist these unfounded friend requests—the other person is neither a friend nor has any formal business with me; they just take up space in my friend list for no reason. I often regret accepting a friend request: I don't really want to connect with them. Socializing is sometimes a puzzle for me; strangers suddenly barging into my world makes me feel at a loss, even a bit repulsed. I dislike the forced small talk and politeness, because I know we won't become real friends.
Not long ago, I was playing on a Minecraft server with a fairly close online friend. There were only the two of us on the server, and we chatted casually. He suddenly said with emotion, "I deleted QQ, so I don't have to obsessively check every little thing on it anymore." When I heard that, I was stunned. I understood that feeling all too well: constantly opening QQ, morbidly checking if anyone had messaged me, if there were new group messages, as if I were expecting something, or just habitually seeking validation. That friend said he deleted QQ and no longer compulsively stared at it, and I was deeply envious. This obsession with socializing is like an addiction—knowing that most of the time nothing will happen, yet still unable to resist opening the phone again and again, just to see that lonely "0 new messages"...
My mindset has always been quite contradictory: on one hand, I often feel lonely and crave companionship and more social interaction; on the other hand, I'm tired and repulsed by superficial small talk and ineffective socializing. I crave connection, yet I always resist excessive contact—it's like an ironic paradox. Whenever I feel extremely lonely, I desperately want someone to chat with me, as if that would prove I'm still alive. But when someone (especially someone I don't know well) actually starts talking to me, my guard goes up and I feel drained—I want to escape or end the conversation. It's like there are two versions of me living inside: one afraid of being swallowed by loneliness, and the other afraid of being drowned by socializing. This tug-of-war is exhausting, and I know why I need to delete those people to lighten my load. The emotional pendulum swings between the desire for connection and the fear of socializing, leaving me unsure of what I really want. Deleting those irrelevant contacts at least reduces the burden of dealing with them when I'm in a bad mood; but when I crave communication, facing an empty friend list, I have to accept a reality: they never needed me, yet I always long for someone to understand me.
Since then, I've come to understand a truth: instead of filling my life with the insincere pleasantries of countless acquaintances, it's better to carefully nurture a few genuine relationships, even if they are few. The quality of social connections matters far more than quantity—a simple truth I've only now truly grasped. I've always feared loneliness, yet I've always refused to settle. Those moments of not settling have shaped who I am now: my friend list is clean, and the people around me are few.
But the most regrettable thing is that what's lost is never those "mediocre connections," but the past that can never return.