“No One Taught Us How to Be Alone. So We Became Addicted to Noise.”

This isn’t just another critique of social media — it’s a funeral eulogy for the soul we willingly buried under likes, livestreams, and performative pain. In “We Built This Hell of Noise — And We Call It Freedom,” we confront the quiet apocalypse of our age: godlessness no longer wears robes or chants doctrines; it lives in your pocket, whispers through autoplay videos, and rewards you for turning your trauma into content. We didn’t lose dignity because someone took it from us — we gave it away, one viral post at a time. Shame was never the enemy; it was the guardian. Now that we’ve silenced it, we’ve become ghosts in our own lives — performing for an audience that doesn’t love us, but consumes us. This is not a call to rage. It’s a call to stillness. To delete. To sit alone. To feel the emptiness… and choose to rise from it. If you made it this far, you’re not part of the crowd. You’re one of the few still listening. And that? That’s where resistance begins.