As is my natural relationship to commitment, I am stressed by this obligation almost constantly. Snapstreaks have forced me into a social commitment to friends that I am reminded of every day, as is the nature of the streak. However, the Snapstreak’s true purpose was immediately evident: It was clearly engineered by a specialized team of evil masterminds to fuck with me and those like me while devaluing social interactions through Snapchat.

In theory, the Snapstreak is a fun way to keep up with friends and make a little game out of your social media relationships. Nonetheless, if I get one more Snapchat “STREAK,” and it’s not about friends of mine running somewhere naked, I’m going to scream. I think that it has its flaws, much like other social media apps, but sending and receiving pictures of spontaneous moments can be a fun way to share your experiences with friends. This “service” has been provided by Snapchat since April 2015 and has been wreaking havoc ever since. In no way do I hate the premise of Snapchat. For those of you who are unaware, the popular social media app Snapchat counts the days that you and any particular friend consecutively send pictures to one another. Most recently, my struggle with commitment has manifested itself in Snapchat streaks, or “Snapstreaks,” if you care to be hip to the social media lexicon. Sometimes I completely refuse to commit even the smallest amount of my time in a day to anything because I am afraid, up until the last minute, that something else might come up. I spend afternoons or nights bouncing around from place to place trying to please everyone.

Now, I continue to over-commit, but I lack the luxury of canceling with some lie about my parents. In high school, I used to commit to multiple things at the same time, and then cancel them all last minute and stay home, just narrowly avoiding any real confrontation or guilt. Nonetheless, it permeates almost every aspect of my daily life and is frequently debilitating.

That is hardly a radical feeling for a teenager in 2017. My name is Manny Unger, and I am afraid of commitment.