Hashtag Happy

By Theodora Lee

@VideoPrincess: I never meant to hurt anyone, including myself, the way I did…

Diana Murray’s life is #goals. Home might not be perfect but her Instagram can be. After only a few months on YouTube her subscriber count is soaring, she’s getting recognized in public and the absolutely gorgeous @ErichLang is sliding into her DMs. How can she be anything but #happy? But while Diana and her friends are living it up with Cape Town’s favourite social media celebs she sees something she wishes she hadn’t, something that could get you #cancelled for good. Just as Diana tries to bring the shocking event out in the open, her phone is confiscated and she is sent to rehab for social media addiction while trolls are tearing her down online. Will Diana take responsibility for her actions and start the journey towards recovery and freedom, or will she remain a prisoner of the false security that social media brings?

Hashtag Happy is the fast-paced, honest and piercing Young Adult debut from South African YouTuber and social media marketer Theodora Lee.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pan Macmillan South Africa Children's Books
• Release date: Oct 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781776250615

Theodora Lee

Theodora has been writing and creating things for the internet since the Myspace era. Her career as an advice and lifestyle YouTuber saw her channel grow to over 250 000 subscribers, with a similar reach across her social accounts. During this time, she was named the most successful YouTuber in South Africa and was awarded and nominated for multiple creator awards including an international Nickelodeon Kids Choice Award nomination. In 2018 she pivoted into advertising where she’s played a key role in growing business through ideas-led social media campaigns and Always On content. Over her short career thus far, she’s won several awards including a Webby Award Nomination for her work with Johnson and Johnson. Her innate understanding of social media and ability to connect with an audience is the perfect recipe for success.

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Pan Macmillan

www.panmacmillan.co.za

Prologue

There are three things that you should know about me before you learn that I, Diana Murray, have been sent away and banned from the internet.

1. My parents are not in love, yet they refuse to get a divorce.

2. Less dramatic but equally traumatic, I’m seventeen and I’ve never had a boyfriend. All I want in life is a guy who loves me the way I will love him.

3. I never meant to hurt anyone, including myself, the way I did.

Okay, there is a fourth thing, but you can skip over it because it’s not important. I’m not happy the way it seems on the internet. I don’t know if I ever was.

#LivingInTheNow

I’m sitting in the reception of Ponya Wellness Centre, nestled in a steep neighbourhood just beyond Simon’s Town. It’s backdropped by mountains your average Capetonian would be tempted to climb, and also a short walk to the beach, where you might run into a romantic couple of penguins and some freedivers.

But this isn’t a holiday, or a day spa. This is rehab.

I’m looking forward to whoever’s in charge realising this is a mistake, I’m not an addict. I’ve only ever tried half a cigarette and some shots.

Not gonna lie, there’s been some drama, but who gets out of high school without questioning at some point why they exist? I feel like this would be a good thing to tweet, but they’ve taken my phone away.

10 Months Before Rehab

YouTube Subscribers: 0

We were spending the Christmas holidays with my aunt and uncle in Ireland, which over winter (and most of summer) is cold AF.

Even though I was a little disappointed to leave our home in Cape Town during December, I’d hoped that Ireland would be a special family holiday. But there is nothing special about being trapped indoors for eight days due to ice on the roads.

Aunt Liz made a room for Sarah and me in their annex, which had low ceilings and peeling wallpaper, but the fairy lights strung across the dormant fireplace gave it some charm – and, let’s be honest, some nice selfie opportunities.

I’d taken to sleeping twelve hours a night, rising at 1pm, which gave me just under four hours of daylight (if we can call it that) each day. I think my oversleeping had something to do with FOMO when I saw peeps back home hiking in Newlands Forest, flaunting thong bikinis and performing TikTok dances at sleepovers ... scroll, scroll, scroll.

I felt underwhelmed (maybe depressed, even) about being stuck inside in the northern hemisphere. The only thing keeping me slightly upbeat were #Vlogmas videos on YouTube. But the pleasure usually faded after they finished decorating their Christmas tree and all I had left to watch were Instagram Story updates from parties I couldn’t attend.

It seemed like everyone was living their best lives, meanwhile I was slowly developing bedsores.

On Christmas Eve I looked up from my phone and wondered why nobody had called me downstairs to the kitchen. Had they assumed I was napping all day? I realised then that I needed something more to distract me from the merging gloomy days and the persistent smell of damp.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds and woke up to my sister Sarah in our room, wrapping presents.

‘I wasn’t asleep, I was just thinking with my eyes closed.’

‘Whilst snoring!’ Sarah laughed.

‘I’ve decided I’m going to start my own YouTube channel,’ I announced super casually. As if it wasn’t the best idea I’d had, like, ever.

‘Um,’ she said, picking up the penknife that she was going to wrap for Dad. ‘Hmm ...’

‘Hear me out. I’ve watched like 10 000 hours of YouTube this trip. Don’t they say you need to do something for 10 000 hours to become a pro?’

‘Then you’re a pro at watching videos, not making them, Diana.’

‘Whatever.’ I rolled over. ‘They’re living the dream!’

When I sat up after a few pretend growls into my pillow, Sarah said, ‘You want to know what I think? You might be good.’

‘Just good?’

‘Hmmm, it’s hard for me to say how good, because you haven’t made a video before. But you’re theatrical!’ She said this like it was a real strength. ‘Didn’t you get 85 per cent for drama?’

Facts. I’d blown everyone away with my character, an air hostess, whose dream in life was for the plane to go down, so she could save everyone in morbid triumph.

I started mock-filming myself, making the kind of faces I’d never post. ‘Do you think there’s a chance I might get a camera for Christmas?’

‘Cameras are expensive. Why don’t you TikTok instead, using your phone?’

‘You know it’s the long and chatty vlogs for me. But I’ll also be active on TikTok; fans will have many ways to consume my content.’

‘Well then hopefully you will get a camera for Christmas.’ And that’s when the two of us broke into our favourite festive song, ‘Maybe this Christmas will mean something more!’

#LivingInTheNow

HOW ARE YOU FEELING?

I pick up the chewed-lid pen and start filling out the form in front of me.

□  Agitated

□  Depressed

□  Anxious

□  Withdrawn

□  Euthymic

□  Intoxicated

I feel it’s a toss between ‘Agitated’ and ‘Euthymic’. I like the sound of Euthymic, but I don’t know what it means. I tick ‘Agitated’ and put a little star next to it. On the side of the page I draw another star and write: ‘*BTW, I’m only agitated because I wasn’t given the chance to log out of my accounts :)’

Hopefully, whoever reads this form will see the :) and let me have my phone, just for a few minutes.

I sink further into the uncomfortable couch and allow my looping thoughts to play.

I know things got bad and I probably need to work on myself, but I made it out alive. I’m sure I can fix this on my own. And where the hell did they put my phone?

10 Months Before Rehab

YouTube Subscribers: 0

‘Merry Christmas,’ I said, sliding into the kitchen in my fluffy slippers.

Everyone stared at me – as if me being awake before lunch was a small Christmas miracle.

‘Where’s Dad?’ I asked, pouring coffee from the espresso pot. I needed something stronger than milky tea after last night’s brainstorm. I must have written a hundred YouTube ideas in my phone’s notes before Sarah threw a pillow at me to go to bed.

‘He’s disappeared with the dogs,’ said Mom, rolling her eyes to herself, but I caught her frustration.

I grabbed a packet of chocolate buttons from the snack cupboard. Something you can’t find at Pick n Pay or even Woolworths. Europe’s cold, but it knows treats.

‘I need to start making the mince pies,’ Sarah said, eating muesli and making me feel guilty. But it’s Christmas, and I’m happy, so let me eat these buttons of joy!

Sarah eats healthily because she’s a champion swimmer; has been since her pool birth at home. Mom tried delivering me that way too, but I wasn’t quite the aquatic baby they were hoping for. I prefer beds to pools.

Because of the icy roads, Sarah hadn’t been able to get to the local pool to do any of her holiday training. You could tell she wasn’t used to having so much excess energy.

‘Come on guys, let’s bake!’ she said.

‘How about we discuss my first YouTube video?’

‘Oh yeah. Diana wants to start YouTubing.’

‘You-what-now?’ Aunt Liz said, looking up from her newspaper.

‘You know Di watches those videos on the internet of people sharing things about their lives and doing tutorials and stuff?’

Aunt Liz’s wide eyes became wider. ‘Aren’t they called vloggers? I read in the Irish Times that they’re modern-day celebrities. A girl from Dublin even wrote a book, some self-help thing, I thought that was rather interesting.’

‘That could be me in a couple years, Aunt Liz.’ I felt I might as well indulge.

‘Why don’t we film a How to make mince pies on Christmas Eve when you don’t have all the ingredients and can’t go to the shops because of ice on the roads?’ Sarah said, running out of breath.

‘I think that title might be a bit long,’ I said, expertly. ‘It needs to be more clickbait. Like Mince Pie Disaster or Mouse Brain Found in Mince Pie.’

‘Eeeeew.’

‘It sounds like a nice pastime for you girls while the weather’s bad,’ said Mom. ‘But hopefully I can take you to some of the places I planned to before we go home.’

‘It’ll clear,’ said Aunt Liz extending the ‘r’, a sign that her South African accent was starting to fade slightly. I half wished I’d return home with an Irish accent. Maybe that was the missing ingredient for me in the guy department. Well, it would at the very least be a nice distraction from the pimples erupting on my chin.

With a sudden craving for savoury, I popped a piece of Irish soda bread into the toaster and asked, ‘When are we opening the presents?’

#LivingInTheNow

I still haven’t moved from this couch, which I’ve come to realise is the same colour as the vomit I had when I was ten and had too much Oros.

I glance at the receptionist, who has long cherry-red hair and a few semi-visible acne scars. She’s talking on the phone without her laptop on her desk. I saw her putting it away when I arrived.

‘Before we book your son in for an assessment, Mrs Bhanga, I need to ask you a few more questions if that’s okay?’ she says, and turns to me, mouthing, ‘You done?’

I nod even though I’ve left half of it blank, because I don’t understand all the questions.

‘Could you tell me his drug of choice?’ she asks Mrs Bhanga, who’s probably a mother, which makes me wonder what my mom would have said about me.

‘She’s hard-core into social media platforms, please save her!’ I almost LOL at the thought.

The receptionist puts the phone down and immediately picks it up again. I could never speak on the telephone like that. I prefer voice notes.

‘Hi, Khule, Diana’s ready for you ... Yes, she’s filled out the form ... No, she seems fine. A little nervous, but fine ... No, she won’t need to see the clinician. I’ve spoken to her mom about it already ... Yes, process addiction, she won’t need a blood test or a breathalyser, I checked with Melanie. Okay, see you now-now. Bye.’

A lady with a clipboard and a shweshwe doek walks into reception. She reminds me of a teacher I had in pre-school, Miss Mphuthi, who often found me in the sandpit when I was meant to be having nap time. I could never quite figure out where I needed to be and why it was so important. I still feel like that sometimes.

‘Thanks, Ruby, I’ll take things from here.’

She turns to me and I’m scared. ‘Hello, Diana, welcome to Ponya Wellness Centre. I’m Khule, the support counsellor.’ She holds out her hand; she’s wearing false nails with glistening pink diamantés.

‘Let me show you to your room, umntwana,’ she says, getting straight to business, as if this is all really happening. Which it isn’t. It can’t be.

10 Months Before Rehab

YouTube Subscribers: 0

Feeling less Christmas glam than I would have liked in PJs and a hoodie, I decided to FaceTime my BFF Belle to pass the time before presents. When she picked up, I found she’d already opened hers – she got five overpriced crystals for ‘healing’, a high-tech yoga mat and a gold ankle bracelet from her (hockey captain and jock) boyfriend Adam and was heading out for a boujee Christmas lunch in Camps Bay.

‘Please can I teleport?’ I begged. ‘I miss your family and I’d love some crayfish.’ The grass seemed so much greener on the other side of the screen.

But Belle just laughed and told me she had to go because they were about to open some champagne. I felt a sharp hint of jealousy and reluctantly waved a pixelated goodbye.

Dad finally returned with my aunt and uncle’s two waggy-tailed cocker spaniels. His face looked vacant and blotchy, like he’d walked a bit far ... Or maybe he’d managed to get into town to buy me a last-minute present. Was there perhaps a new camera at the bottom of his backpack?

‘Yay, we can do presents!’

‘Just a moment,’ he said – which I knew wasn’t going to be a moment, but a drawn-out postponement. He kicked off his boots. ‘I’m headed upstairs. Don’t wait for me.’

My flurry of excitement morphed into stomach knots the size of mince pies.

‘Dad, it’s Christmas.’

‘Give me twenty minutes, okay?’

‘Why so long?’

He puffed out his colour-filled cheeks and smiled, putting my mind at ease. ‘Diana, you sound like you did when you were five and wanted to open your new Barbie NOW!’ he exclaimed with arm-flinging animation.

‘Come ON!’ I whined like a five-year-old.

Mom walked into the kitchen to make herself another salmon-and-cream-cheese cracker, and to stare at Dad the way she did when she was irritated with him.

‘Edwin, what took you so long?’

‘Nothing, Kath. Something’s come up at work ... I need to sort it out.’

Mom gave up on her half-made cracker. ‘On Christmas?’

When we finally gathered around the tree, it started to rain outside. Hard.

‘Here’s hoping the rain turns into snow.’ I was trying to feel jolly and hopeful, waiting for a signal to go ahead and start opening the presents. But the adults just carried on merrily drinking wine and upped the volume of the Christmas carols, as if the piles of presents were going to open themselves.

‘How are we going to do this?’ I shouted above the children’s choir.

‘Start handing them out, darling,’ yelled Aunt Liz. ‘You and Sarah can be the elves.’

After receiving socks, a mug and some pimple-fighting facemasks (thanks, Mom!), I was so ready to open the boxylooking present with my name on it. But when Sarah gave it to me, I hesitated.

‘Go on,’ said Mom. ‘Open it.’

I ripped open the starry festive wrapping. It was a camera. But not a digital camera, a banana-coloured Polaroid camera.

‘This is awesome, thank you.’ I tried to sound upbeat.

When it came to Sarah’s last present, I was sure she’d get one too. My parents always bought us the same presents.

‘Whaaaat?’ I said out loud. She didn’t get a Polaroid. She got a brand-new camera. Digital and everything.

‘Wow, thanks guys,’ Sarah said, folding the wrapping paper into a tight rectangle instead of tearing open the box and switching on the camera.

‘It’s for your swimming galas, darling,’ Mom said. ‘Now we can capture all of your achievements.’

I focused on keeping a smile, trying not to let the disappointment dilute my cheery mood.

When my uncle went off to fill the glasses, Sarah turned to me and said, ‘Want to swap gifts?’

#LivingInTheNow

Here I am, sitting on a single bed covered in a dull green duvet, with not a lot to say for myself, except I wish Sarah hadn’t given me her camera for Christmas. I should have kept the banana-coloured Polaroid. I probably would have got into a lot less trouble with it.

This room feels very white and minimalist, which they’ve tried to jazz up with bright cushions and abstract coloured pencil drawings on the walls. I look up at the fluorescent light, with insects struggling for life inside the bulb, and try my best not to think about spending the night here.

There’s another (less neatly made) bed, which means I’ll have to share with someone random. It’s making me super anxious. I start breathing in and out of my nose slowly. I’ve seen enough on the internet about anxiety to know that breathing solves everything. But it’s only making the smell of dirty laundry more apparent.

‘Try to stay present,’ I say out loud to myself. But my mind does the opposite. I start to compare myself to one of those criminals in a Netflix prison documentary.

How is it that even criminals get to use a phone and I can’t? Granted it’s attached to a wall – but still. If they wanted to direct a social account from prison, it could be done.

Maybe I shouldn’t lose hope just yet. I have only been allocated a room. Surely it will just take a bit of honest conversation with the counsellor to get me out of here?

10 Months Before Rehab

YouTube subscribers: 3

‘Has it gone viral?’ Dad asked from our garden. He was sipping a beer whilst hosing the roses and Popeye was adding falsetto yaps to the neighbourhood choir of dogs.

I refreshed my first ever YouTube video to check, but it had only been live for three minutes so the two views were probably just me. The video was called ‘Welcome to my channel’ where my whole family (including Popeye, our chihuahua) sat on the couch to do a ‘Who’s more likely to ...?’ video from a list of questions I made up. It’s not exactly the most original video, apart from the fact that Popeye started to pee on my lap halfway through, which I kept in for the views.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll get everyone at work to watch it.’

‘Um, thanks, Dad, but I’m looking for a different kind of fan base.’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Sarah from a hamstring stretch position. ‘How about I set up a whole bunch of fake email addresses to like and leave comments on the video?’

‘I’d also like the fan base to be real, Sar. It’s cool, I’m not going to look at it for a while.’

But I did look at it, repeatedly, until the video was on 59 of my own views. Even from the very start, being a YouTuber was going to take more from me than I imagined. But that was a challenge I was ready to take on.

#LivingInTheNow

There’s a knock on the door and a woman enters my room. Her filled-in brows behind her frameless glasses convey a don’t-mess-with-me attitude.

‘Hello, Diana, I’m Melanie, your counsellor. It’s lovely to meet you.’ Her voice is different to what I expected. It’s soft and grown-up-like and makes me think of custard, the smooth kind you get in cartons, not the powdered stuff that always turns lumpy. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Um ...’ I look down at the floor. How I feel doesn’t matter, does it? The only thing that matters is how I’m going to get out of here.

‘I’ve read your form. I see that you ticked agitated ... On a scale of one to ten, how agitated are you feeling right now?’ She opens her notebook to somewhere just beyond the middle. Her handwriting is slick with elegant