You Don’t Fucking Need It

There’s a thing I see.
Everywhere.

My in-laws? The TV’s on — always the news.
Their car? News.
My friend’s house? News.
Neighbors' living rooms glowing blue at night? News.

Walking the dog?
Every passerby is jacked into their own private panic via social media.
Everyone’s chewing on the same loop: fear, doom, outrage, repeat.

You're live-streaming footage of a fire —
and you think the whole world is on fire.
Of course you do.

You know what you're not seeing?
The stories that don’t make the feed.
The moments that don’t trend.
The things that don’t sell.

Because good news doesn’t drive engagement.
No clicks.
No clicks, no eyeballs.
No eyeballs, no ads.
No ads, no business.

So the whole fucking system is designed to keep you rattled —
panicked, paralyzed, pissed off, and addicted to the cycle.

You want to fix it?

Turn it off.
Unplug the TV.
Delete your social media.
For the love of whatever’s left of you —
put your phone in the other room.

Then go to the window.
Actually look.

Better yet, go outside.
Stand in it.
Breathe it.
You’ll notice something.

The birds?
They’re still chirping.
That smell in the air?
Honeysuckle.
That warm breeze on your neck?
That’s what life actually feels like when you’re not soaking in someone else's panic.

We’ve been devouring adrenaline for so long we forgot what peace tastes like.
Now we reach for poison just to feel something that cuts through the static.

Just stop.

Before you rot your soul out through your eyeballs.
Before you forget how to hear your own name without a notification.
Before you lose whatever real piece of you is still in there, waiting for the noise to die down.

You don’t fucking need it.
You never did.
You just forgot.

And while you’re scrolling? While you’re numbing yourself with headlines and sidebars and outrage-bait?

Death is already on his way.

The grim reaper has your address.
It’s punched into his GPS.
He’s not lost.
He’s just in traffic.

He might be minutes out.
He might be decades away.
But he’s coming.
Guaranteed.

When he gets there, what are you gonna do — ask him to wait five more minutes so you can finish a Buzzfeed quiz?
See which Disney princess they say you are?

Or will you wish you had five more minutes to kiss someone you love?
To pet your dog?
To feel your bare feet on the rug you always said you'd replace but never did?

That’s what’s real.
Not the feed.
Not the rage.
Not the noise.

Your life is waiting.
Joy is waiting.
But it won’t beg for your attention the way the machine does.

If you want it —
really want it —
you’ve gotta walk away from the noise.
You’ve gotta go take it.