Swimming With Sharks

"A man is least himself when he speaks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he'll tell you the truth." - Oscar Wilde, *The Picture of Dorian Gray*

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My parents went to bed, and that’s when the world truly came alive. My feet curled around the base of the computer chair like a cat nestled around its owner’s ankles. My face was inches away from the glowing screen in a small, dark room, its light harshly revealing the pores on my fourteen-year-old face. A bag of potato chips sat on the dingy computer desk, rustling each time I reached in with salty fingertips. Back then, The Sims was everything for teenagers like me—a chance to be the parent, the authority, the god of a world that didn’t actually exist. I could create and control. It was all harmless. It wasn’t real. And that was what I loved about it.

The Sims provided an escape from my real social life, a perfect retreat for an introvert like me. But now, people are everywhere—people you can’t control, yet people easily manipulated at the same time. It’s imperfect for an introvert like me. I open my computer now in a similarly dark room, minus the potato chips. But I still feel as though I’m consuming something. Why do I feel both full and empty at the same time? Why is this girl online telling people they can’t pull off a slicked-back bun? Why does it matter? Why the hell am I even watching this?

I’ve never seen humanity so unplugged yet plugged in at the same time. I just liked a video of a girl crushing a bar of soap in her hands, watching it ooze like molasses through her fingers. A man just told me that because I’m over thirty, I have no value and should start counting down my days. A girl is dying in a hospital bed, her battle with cancer supposedly coming to an end. But shortly after, everyone found out she faked it. Dating apps have become legal human slaughterhouses where everyone stands in line to be devoured. Intimacy is reduced to inconsistent text messages and "Do you want me to call an Uber?" Because you can pick up the phone, and another will be there at your disposal. Everyone has a voice, but no one is listening.

This is what happens when things become too accessible. They lose their value, becoming the stick of gum in the pack, not the pearl in the oyster. So I found myself drinking, trying to keep up with the tide in hopes I could crash onto the shore and blend in like everyone else. But the tide rose too high, and the moon was drowning. You’re bored, so you’d rather swim with the sharks. And if you venture too far, you’re bound to get bitten—once, twice, maybe more—until they circle around you, drawing blood, until you become the treasure at the bottom of the sea. Everyone eventually gets eaten. But no one ever gets fed.

No one seems to matter anymore. These little icons inside my phone—they’re just the symptoms. This is how humanity truly is. Given the chance, people morph into whatever their circumstances demand, into whatever they’re told to be. Social media simply provides the mask for people to parade as their true, uninhibited selves.

"A man is least himself when he speaks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he'll tell you the truth." - Oscar Wilde, *The Picture of Dorian Gray*

I’ve reached a point where my thoughts are just echoes of everyone else’s voices, drowning out my own. My art disrobes itself in my mind, but it’s never my own body. Then comes the comparison. I’m tearing through the city of my own neurons, and none of these people wear my face. They’re all saying my thoughts out loud, and I’m trying to silence them because I’ve lost myself. So here we are—reading the fragments of my voice scattered among the masses, scraping it off the smoldering sidewalk with a butter knife. A tiny nugget. That’s all you become, if you’re lucky.

I ask you, what does your peace mean to you? Does the content you consume nourish you like a plate of salmon and vegetables, or is your spirit trapped in a room with the media force-feeding TikTok videos down its gullet like a ravenous pelican? You are what you eat. It’s rare to walk away from McDonald’s feeling like you did something good for yourself. This is no different.

I miss The Sims. Maybe even the occasional AOL instant message about hitting up the local movie theater. But here we are now, swimming with the sharks until we either become them or drown in the pain of being devoured. I can upload my voice and watch it swirl through the whirlpool, hoping someone bites. I could risk my reputation by revealing my true opinions. I could create and control. It’s all harmless. It’s not real. That’s what I love about it… right?