Post Doom Scrolling Trauma (“PDST”)
Reflections on life in the age of discriminate algorithms beaming up social markers of identity, brand, humor and sympathy.
April 27, 2024
What a better way of spending time than hunched over the sofa, phone cord too short to assume a more relaxed position? Besides, the sofa was too short to lie supine.
It was chosen for its aesthetic more than its function. Legs are folded, feet clasped close together to stymie the cold. It was the end of April, and the condominium’s winter heating had been turned off the week before.
Nothing to do but wait
He had finished his work and gone out for lunch. There was nothing to do now but to wait. In years gone by (his generation likes to imagine), he might have been productive – thumbing the pages of a book or seeing what final errands could be run in the city.
But today, his thumbs do not twiddle along idly. They flick, drag, zoom, swipe, scroll, down, up, left, right, across diagonally – ad infinitum.
They feed his eyes with the glare of a thousand images and sounds as simulacra and simulation fold over and over onto and into one another.
Discriminate algorithms beam up social markers of identity, brand, humor and sympathy. All flood and rush their way into his cortex, resting for a few moments and then passed on over for new images.
Yearning for the lives of others
His appetite untrammelled, his self-control non-existent. His beady eyes yearn for the lives of others – amour-propre outmuscling any semblance of amour de soi. Jealousy gazes out towards the published, the awarded, the richer, the fitter.
A million people swirl around yet, to the untrained eye, you would see only him, hunched over the corner of cramped sofa. He tears himself away from the screen, pockets his most prized essential. His wait is over, reality beckons.
His hand twitches ever-so-slightly. A latent itch hangs over his mind, the absence of cheap dopamine. But it is always ready to be scratched.
The traumatic gap between pausing and resuming doom scrolling is only as long as he chooses to make it. He need only find a quiet corner, hunch over, thumb out his screen, glue his eyes and his PDST is soothed. At least for now.
Takeaways
In years gone by, he might have been productive – thumbing the pages of a book or seeing what final errands could be run in the city.
Discriminate algorithms beam up social markers of identity, brand, humor and sympathy. All flood and rush their way into his cortex, resting for a few moments and then passed on over for new images.
He tears himself away from the screen, pockets his most prized essential. His wait is over, reality beckons.
The traumatic gap between pausing and resuming doom scrolling is only as long as he chooses to make it.
