My name is Claude Vicent and I’m an internet addict.
The first step to self-medicating is acceptance, but don’t quote me on that. Like so many others out there I fear I have become dependant on the demonic loophole which the internet has become. Gone are the days when the internet felt like a god-sent, endless universe of fantastical information. A digital sea of unlimited websites and webpages. A door to a parallel world of depraved sexual escapades and unthinkable acts of self inflicted anal prolapses. The excitement which once filled me has now made way for a rather peculiar sense of emptiness, and an urgency to live my real life.
For a while the internet felt wonderful and awesome and disgusting all at once. It was the perfect playground for the mind and the ego. A perverted yet generous genie, willing to grant us an unlimited and unregulated array of wishes at the touch of a button. For the generation that made the transition from the old world into the new, the internet was a never ending unwrapping of possibilities and releases, of connections and knowledge, of data, and news as well as a constant, useless cascade of status updates. It is still all these things and more, and as times change it too will mutate and adapt to its new surroundings.
The truth is, I think I might finally be outgrowing my worst addiction, the teenage (to mid twenties) recreational playground which is, and always has been, the internet.
Day after day, for the past ten years (at least) I’ve found myself flicking through the same six to ten websites. Endlessly and desperately typing in the same old addresses. Hopping from one newspaper site to another, from one sports site to another, via one porn site to the next, just to make sure they’re still all there. An awkward and addictive loop of expectations, which has me coming back and back again, day after day, only to find the same nonsense and lies and constant brain-draining sexual innuendo. Even the king of video websites seems to have inevitably evolved into a depressing loop of suggested viewings, accompanied by numerous side dishes of demented youngsters swallowing full cucumbers and setting fire to their genitals on their desperate pursuit for stardom.
I quit smoking the day I decided to stop. It was the feeling of having succumbed to a monotonous, brain-draining daily habit that did it for me in the end. However, it wasn’t until years later, whilst puffing at one of those cheeky cigarettes we all have with a pint of beer, that I realised how really shit a cigarette tastes.
I rather doubt I’ll ever be able to really quit this thing the internet has become. Still, I think I’m heading in the right direction.
Thanks for listening.