It started with a scratched cornea and a very serious-looking doctor who said, “You’ll need to reduce your screen time by 80 percent.”

Eighty percent?

That’s not screen moderation — that’s a lifestyle change. That’s taking away the thing I use to scroll, stalk, shop, soothe, laugh, cry, zone out, zone in, and check the weather in Reykjavík for no reason. I stared at her like she’d asked me to give up oxygen and sarcasm.

But she wasn’t joking. “No Instagram, no X, basically no social media,” she said, scribbling on her prescription pad like she hadn’t just wrecked my entire digital identity. No late-night scrolling while marinating in existential dread? She may as well have told me to give up gravity.

But for how long? Forever? A week? Until artificial intelligence takes over? “Start with a day,” she said. “One full day. No Instagram, no scrolling, no bright screens.”

I blinked (carefully). And just like that, I was sentenced to a day in the real world — raw, unfiltered, and terrifyingly offline.

So I did the only rational thing left; I announced to my friends (via text, of course): “I’m going offline tomorrow. Like, fully. No reels. No memes. No lurking. Just vibes and eye drops.”

One replied: “Are you possessed?”

Prep mode: Detaching from the matrix

The night before the detox, I staged a breakup with my phone. I deleted Instagram, pushed my Gmail app to Page 5 of the home screen (the digital equivalent of Siberia), and created a survival kit:

• A novel I’ve owned since 2018 and never finished

• Eye drops every four hours (my new religion)

• One pen, one notebook (for my inevitable spiral)

• And the emotional strength of a damp Marie biscuit

I texted my closest friends: “Going offline tomorrow. If I disappear, avenge me.”

One replied, “Weird flex.” While another was more considerate and said, “Why? Who hurt you?”

Hour 0: The ghost thumb syndrome

At 8:05 a.m., I woke up, stretched dramatically, and reached for my phone like muscle memory demanded. I unlocked it. My thumb hovered… and froze.

Where was the dopamine? The dancing cat videos? The ‘Pretty Little Baby’ reels?

Instead, I opened the calculator........

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