Invisible Networks #21: Disposable Psychology

My afternoon is empty, and I decide to waste it on browsing Moodline. It's a comfortable state of dull enjoyment of memes and jokes, but then I stumble upon a hot take. Nay, not hot, but absolutely incendiary. An amateur smith could easily smelt tungsten with this kind of take. I decide it is my duty to knock this fool down a peg, and begin replying. Forty minutes later of verbal sparring of the kind to shame my mother and make my friends proud, the reply button suddenly locks itself. I almost throw the phone using the remaining passion from my argument when I feel the buzz of a notification.

Moodline Behavior Support
Too many of your posts have been recently flagged for unacceptable behavior and your posting permission has been temporarily revoked. Tap here to view your options.

I swear to myself, a little more loudly than intended, and tap the notification. The screen it takes me to presents two options. I may wait 24 hours to regain the ability to post, or I may allow Moodline to activate my government-issued brain implant and administer a temporary emotional schema in order to immediately reactivate my posting permission. I weigh my options. I could just chill the fuck out and do anything else, but that's admitting defeat. Can my will to show up this idiot asshole be enough to power through Moodline's attempt to curb my expression? I remind myself that no soldier gets to fight in their preferred battlefield, and press the button that gives Moodline permission to access my implant.

Immediately I feel more calm, serene. The flames of anger start to fade out, so I fixate on my opponent's insanely wrong replies to cling to the few burning coals left. But other thoughts begin to push to the surface. Is committing to this argument healthy for me? Would they be more responsive to thoughtful discussion if I hadn't lead with insults to put them on the defensive? Could I be doing something productive with my life?

The last of these unbidden thoughts sends me into a panic attack. I throw aside my phone and scramble for some of the candy in my desk, desperate for the sweetness to overwhelm my hijacked train of thought. It doesn't work, and I spend the next three hours curled up in bed as I try and fail to fall asleep. It takes another two hours for the imposed self-reflection to end. I hate Moodline, I hate this stupid implant and I hate that I don't feel like continuing that argument anymore. I swear to never use it again.

Two days later I go through an identical incident with the almost exact progression of decisions.