This is the third time this week I've been in bed for six hours staring at the ceiling, scrolling through porn sites on my phone. The dopamine hits are getting weaker and harder to come by, so I go back in — deeper rabbit holes, more obscure content, longer sessions. It's not addiction like gambling or drugs; it's a different kind of hollow consumption that leaves me feeling used up but unable to stop. The thing is, the internet knows what you need before you do. Algorithms track your every click, every second spent on certain sites, and they feed you exactly what makes you come back. And once you're in the rabbit hole? There's no map out. Just endless corridors of content designed to keep you engaged. People call it a mental illness for a reason. But nobody talks about it because it's embarrassing. Because if everyone admitted to going down this road, we'd all look insane.