the "golden age"
— What are you thinking about? — Kathy broke the silence, carefully studying my face.
I hesitated, examining the carpet pattern behind her back. — Nothing.
— Do you know what I'm thinking about? — her voice was soft, almost soothing. She paused, as if gathering her thoughts. — About our first session.
'Funny,' I thought to myself, 'all these years as a therapist, and she still can't read people.'
— You're not breaking things anymore, Alex, and that's progress, — Kathy leaned forward in her chair. — But your habits... Your anger towards society is still there, inside you.
"Society..." — the word hit me like a rusty nail in my temples.
— I understand you have reasons to be angry, — her voice grew even softer. — But suppressing these feelings isn't the answer. We need to work through this. — She paused, choosing her words carefully. — What exactly about our society troubles you so much?
I let out a bitter chuckle: — Oh, where do I begin... Maybe with how all our heroes turned out to be nothing but cardboard cutouts? Or how the world has become an endless string of scams? — I felt the words spilling out. — We're drowning in meaningless questions, pretending they matter. Social media platforms act like they care about our privacy while selling our lives to the highest bidder. And we chose this — with our likes, our money, our votes. — I caught my breath. — You know what's the worst part? We all perfectly understand why we live like this. We're desperate to appear successful, respectable, proper. We've forgotten how to be real. To hell with this society.
— Alex... — Kathy looked at me with concern. — Why are you being so quiet?
I turned to the window: — Everything's fine.
Kathy hesitated, carefully flipping through her notepad. In the silence, only the wall clock's ticking could be heard. — What about the people in white suits? — she asked quietly, as if afraid to frighten away a moment of honesty. — Have you seen them lately?
I ran my hand along the cool surface of the armrest, feeling every fold in the upholstery. — No, they're gone, — my voice sounded unusually calm, almost detached. — Your pills are working.
Something like relief flickered across her face, though she tried to hide it.
***
I stare at my reflection in the dark window of the subway car. It's funny how we all sit here, buried in our phones, basking in the glow of some fake glory. Entertaining ourselves, dropping likes, pretending everything's fine. Acting productive... But what's the point?
The train sways around a bend
I remember how I dreamed of conquering the world as a kid. Just like in those motivational videos — create something great, become famous. And now? Now I'm happy if I manage to do laundry after work. Dreams become more modest, deflating like a balloon.
"The Golden Age of Humanity" — that's what they call it. The age of technology, progress, prosperity. Yet somehow every fourth person is on pills. Everyone's got some disorder, anxiety, depression12. But maybe we're not the sick ones? Maybe society itself is unhealthy? They prescribe "happiness pills" to make us fit their "norm." What kind of golden age is it if we're running from reality with medications?
Mechanical voice announces the next station
For some reason, I remembered how we used to run around the yard with the boys every day as kids. Real emotions, genuine laughter, scraped knees. And now? Now all communication is through these damn social networks. Emojis instead of smiles, likes instead of hugs. When was the last time I heard my best friend laugh? Not through a phone speaker, but in real life?
Pull out my phone, mechanically checking notifications
Look at me, doing the same thing...
A child's scream cuts through the monotonous train noise a few seats away
Ah, there it is — another kid demanding a subscription to some mobile game, literally screaming through the whole car. The mother's face turns red as she tries to calm her precious child down. Funny how this is considered "normal behavior" now. Society seems to have just accepted it — yeah, this is how kids are these days, what can you do?
The train slows down, people sway forward
But are we any better? We lock them up in these concrete boxes without windows that we call "schools". Impose rules stricter than prison — sit still, don't talk, don't move. And then we wonder: "Why are kids so disobedient?" It's because we've turned them into cogs in this damn system.
I observe students opposite me with their heavy backpacks
Back and forth, back and forth. Like wound-up machines. Nothing but emptiness in their eyes — as if their minds are truly locked away in some cage. And the scariest part is that we call this "preparation for life." For what life? The one where you need to be just another obedient cog?
Society somehow quietly decided that being yourself is wrong. As if they have some template of a "normal" person that we all must fit into. Too lively? Too emotional? Sorry, but that doesn't fit their standards. You need to be "like everyone else" — smile when you're supposed to, be sad when it's allowed.
And just try to break free from this "norm" — you'll immediately become the black sheep. Start protesting, searching for your own path — and that's it, you're an outcast. The system doesn't forgive those who won't play by its rules. "Relax and let society think for you" — that's probably our era's motto.
Pull a blister pack of pills from my pocket
I wonder how long until we're all on lifelong antidepressants? Though... maybe that moment has already come, we just haven't noticed it?