An Irreversible Problem

Hey, do you want to go play? Have no worries in the world? Forget about everything except for the ecstatic fun you’re going to have? Cherish these carefree moments before they’re gone, before you plummet into the inescapable grasps of never-ending stress?

Some questions are more straightforward, others not. After having the concept of playtime drilled into my head over the past week, I’m constantly thinking to myself. Wondering. Contemplating. Reminiscing, reminding myself of my past as an unknowingly ignorant kid.

As I visualize the Heelys I used to wear,

the activities I used to do,


I ask, “Did I have a proper childhood?”

I’m conflicted.

Maybe I did.

… Actually, I probably didn’t.

Sure, I’ve had some fun adventures when I was younger. But definitely not like how the children did way back in the early to mid 1900s, back when there was less suspicion over the corrupted public. It’s understandable for parents to be more observant of their children because, well, pedophiles and rapists are frighteningly more common nowadays and run rampant amongst the streets.

Apparently my generation, and the many other generations soon to come, are experiencing and will experience sky-rocketing levels of mental illnesses. Examples: depression. Anxiety. Narcissism (if that even counts as a mental illness).

The cause for suicidal teens? Lack of a childhood. Lack of an unrestricted childhood, to be exact. Of course, most children are given some play hours. But think about it; how exactly are they playing? Enclosed within metal gates? Under adult supervision at all times? Always given strict rules to not touch that dangerous object, to not roam into those mysterious, curiosity-wrenching areas?

It all makes sense. 21st century America has definitely taken a turn for the worse. Not just politically, but in all aspects. Parents are brainwashed and manipulated by society’s threatening crimes. To keep their children safe inside the house, adults stick them in front of the screens of technology, something that only well-aware beings should deal with. Or, in order to have their kid experience “fun”, they’re forced into a competitive sport. Which, in fact, rips away any kind of fun as soon as you start those repetitive drills.

Older generations complain about us being weak, but in reality, they had all the freedom to ever exist in their childhoods. Less school work, too. So much less. Less work, less depression.

That’s definitely not the case for me. Gymnastics consumed my entire life as a kid. I never knew it until now, but I can confidently say that I experienced great amounts of melancholy as I stood stiff on the beam, shaking with the fear of slipping and landing on my head. As the coach and teammates constantly ridiculed me. As I cowered away into the depths of the locker room, finding comfort in my rising anger.

Hmm. No wonder I always get so distressed over life. That explains a lot.

Image result for shrugging gif

Good job, society. Good job.

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