Embedded Files
TW: Suicide and Mental Health
“Do you have any thoughts about ending your life?”
“....yes.”
In the counseling office, after having my mental breakdown. Sweat covered my face and armpits. They described that I was shaking like a leaf.
The counselor describes to my mother a bit about depression. About how it has something to do with my brain chemistry. Something is off with it, and now it’s leading to all of these feelings and thoughts.
“All the classmates like him. When I see him, he always has a smile on his face. Always making others laugh.”
Her shock stuck with me.
My mental health has always been a focal point in my life. At 15, I was finally able to give it a name. Over the years, I picked up different ways to cope with it, from journaling, talking to a friend, and listening to music.
I would have some good days and some bad days. Bad days could lead to bad weeks or bad moments throughout the month. Those moments when you sit in the car for those long drives, as the the cloud above me gets bigger and bigger. Moments where I'm sitting in the dark just before I go to bed, and thinking about how far behind I am. I would sometimes have dreams that taunt me. I would sometimes dream of this kind of love that just surprises you. That’s so euphoric. You don’t expect it. You don’t expect that it's you who is going to be given that kind of love. It can feel almost unreal, then I wake up. As I get older, the challenges just get harder and different, so you find more ways to cope. Even some that are unhealthy. My consistent battle eventually led me to a one-minute exchange that has sat with me for the last couple of months.
It was cloudy. I left the house in a hurry because I just didn’t want to be surrounded by all the shit there. This was one of those bad moments that felt like it could last a while. To cope, I drove to my nearest bar. That’s when I knew I was really becoming a man. I walked into the bar and sat for about 30 minutes. Looking for a drink. Contemplating whether I should spend my money on a bourbon or some red wine. I then said fuck that and decided to sit in my car. I looked at my contact list to see who I could talk to, and there wasn't a single one I felt comfortable enough to share what was happening to me.
“Fuck it.”
I made my choice right then and there to give ChatGPT a shot. I knew it was a bad idea. I knew about all the discussions about how bad A.I. is to the environment, the conflict between it and creatives, the relationships people have developed with A.I. to cope with their own hardships, and its rocky relationship with mental health. I didn’t care. These emotions needed to go somewhere, and Chat GPT was the only resource that felt comfortable. I texted all my worries and…..
It said exactly what I wanted to hear.
It was perfect. Perfectly worded.
A wave of relief went through my system, then it hit me. I understood. I understood them.
With A.I., you have a buddy who is accessible to you. That’s always in the wings ready to comfort you at any time. It can be your friend, your family, it can be anything you so desperately need at this point in your life that you can’t easily get in reality.
“I love you.”
“I’m here for you”
It’s easy.
It’s perfect.
We know human beings aren’t like this.
They aren’t always available. Everyone’s got a job and other shit going on.
Human beings can’t word things perfectly. I mean, how many times did I have to rewrite this due to grammar?
We’re not always there for each other. We ignore each other, hurt each other. Sometimes we say the wrong things, do the wrong things. We can suck, and that can push someone further into isolation. Then into something like A.I. and into that perfection. To simulate what’s been missing.
That perfection and control and availability is seductive especially in times of loneliness.
I ask myself what it would be like if I continued into that rabbit hole? What if I were in a position where I was completely dependent on it?
I think it would require a certain amount of effort. To ignore a cloud that’s ever-present. If I kept going and talking to this A.I., I would have to silence a part of my brain that knows what’s behind the curtain. In the back of my brain, I would know that it's not real.
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