THERE was a day last week when the hassle I often get on social media appeared to ramp up. That happens sometimes: there can be relatively quiet periods where it's the odd abusive or nasty comment here and there, but some days it feels like an endless stream. Last Wednesday was the latter.

But this has gone on for so long now that it barely affects me. These cheeky comments – which often focus on how ugly and stupid the trolls say I am – are just words on a screen. I hardly even consider that a human is at the other side of it, consciously choosing which insult to hurl. I've read enough of these comments to know that I'll have forgotten them within hours, and all I'll have left is a general sense of their ongoing, repetitive nature.

I find it much easier to disconnect from it now. I know that these people don't really know me, they only know a Twitter persona; a selective account of myself I project onto social media. We all show the image of ourselves we're comfortable with other people seeing, but leave big chunks of our lives and our thoughts out of it.

Likewise, I know that many of these trolling accounts are created with the sole intention of spreading negativity, and I suspect that the people operating them are troubled souls. Their insults are insincere, unoriginal and predictable. It's not really about me, it's about expressing their innermost prejudices and any target will do.

The ability to disconnect my emotional wellbeing from the words on the screen is probably why, despite the often shocking nature of the abuse, I have no desire to ditch social media. The positives far outweigh the negatives.

But that's not the case for everyone. Last week, TV presenter Neil Oliver announced he'd quit Twitter in a bid to get away from his trolls and the "vicious" abuse that had been dished out to him. According to Oliver, some of the worst offenders told him they wished he'd get cancer and that he should be "burnt as a traitor".

"I realised that by having a Twitter identity I had opened a door into my personal life in which strangers could pass at will," he said. "Now, on a whim, you can instantly wish death and damnation on a total stranger."

Oliver described quitting Twitter as "an almost instantaneous fix", adding: "The minute I deactivated my account I felt like I had brought my head out of deep water and could breathe easily."

Oliver's decision followed that of journalist David Torrance, who also quit Twitter this month after growing tired of the hassle he received from users. People often describe a sense of freedom and a reduction in stress after quitting social media, and while I still believe that it's possible to build psychological barriers against the trolls, I can't help but wonder whether those former tweeters have got it right and I've got it wrong.

Logically, it's difficult to believe that anyone can be exposed to years of insults focusing on all of the things we tend to be most insecure about, and not be affected by it. I wonder whether I've lost something of myself when I can read abusive messages and feel nothing, when previously it would have touched a nerve.

I wonder whether it's all worth this process of desensitisation, or whether it’s a sign of strength and confidence that I can carry on unaffected, defeating the trolls with defiance. But then I wonder, as I sit here writing about the effects of verbal abuse and feel my heart flutter, whether I'm as immune to the trolls as I think I am.

Extreme and sustained abuse on social media is a form of bullying, and no reaction is the right or wrong one. People respond very differently to bullying, and whichever route they choose in order to deal with it should be met with understanding and compassion, not the judgement and disdain many users heaped upon Torrance upon his departure, for example.

Perhaps time will tell who has the right idea about this. Oliver may well go on to live a happy, Twitterless life stripped of unnecessary abuse, or maybe I'll reap the rewards of continuing to be plugged into this vast network which offers connections to far more fascinating people than the trolls could hope to be.

For now, I’m staying put, if for no other reason than that I’m just too stubborn to walk away. People should know, though, that their words, their throwaway comments made in the heat of the moment, really can harm another person’s wellbeing. Really, Twitter, is it worth it?