They say you should never waste a crisis; I had a full deck of them.
In April this year, I experienced complications following medical surgery. My recovery, which should have taken days, took many months. The impact on my finances was catastrophic. I became depressed, split up with my girlfriend and stopped seeing friends.
Around the same time, following the detection of hazardous materials in my building’s walls, all windows were blacked out with scaffolding and nets. I was living in the dark. Occasionally I saw a builder, but only when coming out of the shower or changing pants. I stopped doing both.
Through the worst, a single thought drummed in my head: I should be on my phone less. Since I was on bedrest, I had to rely on mine for groceries, transport, medical appointments, entertainment and my social life. And I was not happy.
My days felt circular, with no forward progression, like a wheel that doesn’t know its purpose. I would catch myself zombie-scrolling for hours, and throw the phone across the room, shrieking: “Thief of my life, Thief of my joy!” before falling asleep again.
Something had to change. I’d read that a month of limiting screen time can build a habit, but my phone addiction has led me to expect instant results. I want an on-demand detox, and I’ve come up with an idea of how to get it.
Week 1: ADDICTION
I am going to complete my phone. By which I mean, spend a week on it – as much as I can. My thinking is that this will be an extreme form of aversion therapy: like fathers who force their delinquent sons to smoke a whole box of Camels until they’re sick. I know it sounds crazy, but if it works, it will be worth it.
Monday
I spend seven hours on my first day stuck to Instagram reels, Reddit videos and YouTube. It’s like a Luis Buñuel marathon. I watch a woman terrified of olives being chased by a chatshow host brandishing a jar of them. I’m hypnotised by the sight of Grace Jones hula-hooping, which I watch for minutes before realising it’s a gif. I’m confused by po-faced mukbang (Korean extreme eating) videos, of women politely guzzling pollock roe. I immediately suspect this is not worth it.
Tuesday
Humans are set apart by their questioning nature. Are we alone, and what survives us? How should we live? The German poet Rilke memorably urged us to not seek for answers, but learn to live the questions.
He never signed up to a daily newsletter from Quora, the community Q&A website.
Could Mike Tyson in his prime have beaten a Cape buffalo? Why do humans need to wipe when they poo, when animals just squat and plop? As a gynecologist, what gets you mad? Why was Barney and Friends canceled? How do I restrict my daughter from gaining any of my estate when I pass? Could Mike Tyson in his prime have beaten a Cape buffalo? What screams “I’m mentally healthy”? Is Meghan Markle on Ozempic? If someone was eaten whole (not bitten) by a blue whale but had a pocketknife, would they be able to get out of the whale’s stomach unharmed? Could Mike Tyson –
Wednesday
There are too many animals on the internet. I learn that vampire bats “French kiss” with mouthfuls of blood. I cry watching a cat look after a dog who has dementia, and feel emotionally manipulated. I see a video of a monkey picking lice out of a dog’s gums, which a human has captioned: “Friendship goals”. I don’t know what that means.
My phone is hot all day, and I hate it.
Thursday
I instantly regret signing up to Threads, AKA Twitter without the engagement. I can’t bring myself to check in on X, which is Twitter without the engagement, plus sociopaths. I’m horrified by how easy it is to lose four hours on TikTok, watching neurotics restock their fridges, dermatologists popping pimples like an 1980s sci-fi horror, and clips of vintage comedies from 2014.
In bed, I put the phone down. My breath feels trapped in my upper chest. I’ve been having this growing feeling through the week – perhaps a lot longer – that my brain can’t relax. The feeling is insectoid, a squirming formation. I can never pin any thoughts or sensations down, they maggot away from the spotlight of attention. It’s a torture. I need a break, but don’t allow myself one. I need to interact with a human.
Friday
In the evening, at a book event, an editor laments that she spent four and a half hours on WhatsApp last week. I hold up my screen time stats: I spent six hours on WhatsApp just today. She looks into my hollow eyes and sallow skin, and tells me she’s worried about me.
Saturday
I’ve given myself permission to take a few hours off. But hanging with friends at a bar, I find I can’t. I’m half-listening, reading about hairstyles, attachment styles, Harry Styles. It’s an awful epiphany, to be in the company of friends and realise I’m bored. I know these people too well, therefore they can’t surprise me. Not like a video of a cat punching a seal.
Sunday
This week has been a huge, inhumane misstep. Semi-successful, in that I do feel sick of looking at my phone. But crucially, I haven’t stopped looking at it. It reminds me of being a teenager, microwaving pizza pies, one after another, until I was physically sick.
If I’m going to disengage from my phone, it needs to be a managed process, and I need to look after myself. I need to call in expert help.
Next week: Rhik gets serious about his problem.
