Doom scrolling

She lies on her bed. Her curtains are drawn, creating a barrier between the artificially lit room and the darkened cityscape beyond. The melody of tires on asphalt mingle with the hum of her refrigerator, filling the air with rhythmic noise. She rolls onto her side and rustles the quilt beneath her curled form.

She subconsciously sighs. Her eyes do not see the mundanely magical moment. Her ears do not hear the unassuming symphonies. No. Despite her tangibility, she is detached, lost in an endless loop of instant, yet short-lived gratification. For in her hand, she clutches her phone.

Her irises reflect snippets of other people’s lives. She watches them perform short skits, craft “must-try” recipes, explore foreign cities, and simply, live. She watches them live. Ten minutes pass. Then, 30. She should stop scrolling. One hour, gone. She sees the time vanish, aware, yet complacent. Two hours, now. She sighs. Hating her lack of control. Hating how this tiny illuminated screen filled with relentless content, governs her time.

She stops. The phone slips from her hand. She feels defeated—her mind, fuzzy. She looks around her room, trying to anchor herself once more in reality. Her reality. Why, she wonders. Why does she seek to escape? She exhales loudly, and tears collect in her eyes. She is living her dream. She is living a life her past self desperately strived to achieve. And instead of embracing her blessed existence, instead living in the present, she leaves. She steps away from the physical and enters a monotonous spiral of fast-paced dreamlands—a twisted haven where everyone shines more vibrantly than her.

Each day, she falls victim to the mind-numbing allure of scrolling. Each day, she tells herself that tomorrow will be better. She will be better. She will have more control. She won’t fall victim to the siren’s call. And, each day, she fails.

She inhales sharply, trying to fill the emptiness that doom scrolling left in its wake. She could have read. She could have learned something new. She could have gone to sleep early. She could have enjoyed a hobby. She could have bettered herself. She could have done anything. But, no. She laid, curled in an impassive position, greedily consuming video after video after video after video. Never satiated.

Tomorrow, she lies to herself, tomorrow will be different.

Tomorrow, she will be different.