We’ve all done it, and then almost invariably regretted it. Maybe you were drunk at the time or maybe young and inadequately supervised. Maybe you had a bad reaction to antihistamines or were temporarily possessed by Zuul, servant to Gozer the Gozerian. I don’t even have an excuse. I was just straight-up seduced by a good cause and a request that seemed reasonable, and thought: “Yes, I’d like to add my name to this.” So, I signed an online petition. Maybe I signed a few. OK, lots.

The months that followed can only be described as a vortex of Catholic guilt, endangered porpoises, bitter tears and spam email. A Hitchcockian nightmare from which you think you have woken up; you think you have successfully unsubscribed, only to hear that horrible ping of new email and – out of a terrified corner of your eye, like Sigourney Weaver in Alien – see the words Avaaz or Change.org or 38 Degrees.

This is where I planned to insert a paragraph where I made it clear that much of the work such organisations do is very good, a way to be heard, a way for the global community to come together. But I can’t. I hate them. I have been unable to break free (“What is wrong with you? Do you want those rare turtles to die? Do you hate the NHS? Do you not care about the plight of women on the island of ClickThisLinkia? What kind of monster are you?”) and yet I am tortured by the endless, aimless petitioning. The words “global community” fill me with dread. I was their prisoner, chained to the radiator of my own conscience.

Some petitions make sense, of course, but there are prerequisites. It needs to contain a clear request for something that can be done to someone who can do it in a way that is likely to have an impact. A petition to an MP asking them to support or oppose a particular measure in an upcoming vote, looking for signatures from the postcodes that make up their constituency, might make sense.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘A petition to make Beyoncé and Jay-Z comb their daughter’s hair does not make sense.’ Photograph: Mark Davis/Getty Images

A petition to make Beyoncé and Jay-Z comb their daughter’s hair does not. A petition to ban sporks does not. A petition to “discourage rags on head in nativity plays” because they are a sign of “creeping sharia law” does not. It is a slippery slope to the inevitable e-petition asking for e-petitions to be scrapped and being rejected because – wait for it – “there is already an e-petition about this issue”.

Clay Johnson, a former online strategist for Barack Obama, explains it all rather neatly: organisations want your contact details; they don’t care about your voice. “Nearly every organisation in Washington is focused on one thing – inventing new and interesting ways to get your email address,” he explains. “And they want your email address so that they can ask you for money.”

Scanning my inbox, I have four such requests for money right now. One from a political party and three from global community organisations. Maybe Clay has a point. Maybe it is time to do away with my instant, easy guilt-alleviation e-medicine; my pretending-to-care crutch; my one-click way of fixing the world. Time to take a deep breath, hit the unsubscribe button until my mailbox is purged and add recalcitrant DotOrgs to the spam filter.

And if I feel strongly enough about a turtle or the NHS or the plight of children in the developing world, I’m going to take the time to compose a personal message that is more likely to be heard and send it to someone who is more likely to listen. Or even better, find organisations that do real work in these areas and donate my time or money directly. You know, actually do something.