I didn’t rage quit.
There was no manifesto.
Just a slow, growing ache every time I opened the app.
YouTube used to feel like a basement show.
People playing weird, raw stuff for no one in particular.
Now it’s a mall food court.
Every voice flattened. Every title baited. Every soul algorithmically arranged for max engagement.
And Google?
They don’t even pretend anymore.
They track what you whisper in private and serve it back with a coupon attached.
Your thoughts aren’t yours once you think them too loud.
So I left.
Deleted the accounts.
Scrubbed the history.
Swapped out the browser.
Took a breath.
And yeah, I miss some things.
But I don’t miss them.
I don’t want the internet to be my brain anymore.
I don’t want my memories archived for advertisers.
I don’t want to bend my thoughts just to be seen.
The world’s gotten strange.
But this move wasn’t about panic.
It was about peace.
I left not because it was burning—
but because it stopped feeling like home.
And maybe I’ll miss a few trends.
Maybe I’ll lose reach.
Maybe someone out there will wonder where I went.
Maybe not.
Maybe I’ll return.
Maybe not.
But I’ll be right here.
Writing.
Playing.
Living like I never signed up.
No tracking.
No thumbnails.
No click-through rate.
Just me.
Unsubscribed.
I’ll return when it feels right.
—C.H.