Yes, It Really, Really Is the Phones

The world is bad for many reasons. But you can't address them if you can't look up from your phone.

Kieran McLean is a writer in Tāmaki Makaurau (Auckland), New Zealand, and is the secretary of its People Against Prisons branch. You can subscribe to his Substack and follow him on Twitter if you want to read more of his work.

I have a problem: I’m addicted to my phone. Anytime I’m uncomfortable, I pull it out to disappear into a numb, atemporal trance. When I’m sad, I go on my phone. When I’m bored, I go on my phone. When I wake up at night, plagued by rational fears my family in the U.S. might get sick or hurt in environmental disasters, I reach for my phone to dispel them. It’s a slot machine in my pocket that constantly invites me to spin it. Whenever I feel the slightest discomfort, I displace myself from the present by opening my phone.

My phone’s a chronophage that’s robbing me of my life. Some days, I lie in bed for hours and mainline content I know will make me feel bad like it’s a downer drug. Other days, I imbibe Twitter like a stimulant and hysterically riff to stave off helplessness and dread. Sometimes, I envision my phone as an unlimited pill dispenser, supplying me with whatever I need to drive things I don’t want to think about out of mind. This presents a catch-22: I use my phone to quell my fear and despair, and in doing so, disable myself from addressing what’s causing that fear and despair.