Your friend says they’ve gone on psych meds for the first time in their life, but they won’t say for what. All you know is that they’ve been much less entertaining on social media since starting them.
They used to be compulsively active on all the big platforms. Your feed was full of them shadowboxing with public figures in the news. They confronted randoms in the comment sections. They responded to themselves often, while others rarely did. They had niche, often hilarious YouTube shares. You followed them in and out of a dark trail of memes and fringe political philosophies. It was sometimes alarming, but you learned a lot along the way and you knew them well enough not to take any of it seriously.
In 2014 they wrote a Facebook manifesto about Epstein Island. That was the first time you were truly concerned about their mental health. Years later you realized they were correct about everything.
In 2017 you witnessed the rise of Jordan Peterson and the manosphere and deemed your friend an easy mark for their teachings. Your friend called him a cuck in all capital letters in a one-sentence, standalone status update. You saw it as a wash.
In 2020, when your other friends were getting married and buying homes, this friend was still on Twitter, corresponding with a group of suicidal, cocaine-addled, bisexual zoomers. They shared endless memes about Tucker Carlson and said all the forbidden words. It taught you how to laugh about things again.
Throughout all of this, they somehow maintained employment. Now, they don’t post. Maybe once per month, they share a nice picture of a walk at the lake. You see them “like” wholesome things. They only show up in writing to congratulate someone else for a happy life update. They seem like they have a contented life. And, for once, they make sense. But they were also the only thing making social media amusing. Now it’s only for corny normies and Nazis. You wish your friend would go off the meds.