Sometimes when I feel anxious, I remind myself that the entire universe is most likely a projection of a Boltzmann brain and none of this is real, and then I feel much worse
I do not recommend this! Don’t do it!
Ours is an era of multiple ongoing catastrophes, and I have certainly not been immune to feeling the mental health impacts of widespread societal chaos lately. That’s why, when my therapist suggested (ok, pleaded) I try mindfulness or meditation or something of the sort, I immediately agreed.
However, I have never been one to do things “by the book,” or in a way that “makes sense.” That’s why I follow a technique not recommended by any therapist or doctor worth their license, and also actively discouraged by most theoretical physicists too: reminding myself that it is far more likely that all my thoughts, feelings, and perceptions are the result of a Boltzmann brain fluctuating into existence for a brief second in time, with memories fully formed and perceptions that seem real enough to touch, and then vanishing as it dies a slow heat death in an empty, featureless universe.
You know when people tell you to look up at the sky and imagine the vastness of the universe as a way to remind yourself of how small we each are and how insignificant our problems are in the grand scheme of things? Well, this is sort of like that, except taken to its terrifying logical conclusion.
JUST THE WAY I LIKE IT, BABY!!
According to the Boltzmann brain Wikipedia page, astrophysicist and philosopher Sean Carroll has argued that “the hypothesis of being a Boltzmann brain results in ‘cognitive instability,’” on account of it being pretty fuckin freakyyy (that last part is my own words).
But one man’s ‘cognitive instability’ is my little vacation from reality, and boy does it feel good to imagine a floating brain with tentacles (?) randomly materializing in the cold dark nothing for the sole purpose of showing me Crystal Pepsi, Donald Trump, vaping, the collected short stories of Ernest Hemingway, the motion picture Morbius, the black hole in the center of our galaxy, Full House, and forks, before fading back into the nothingness out of which it was borne.
Here, you look at this, the little brain whispers coarsely before showing me the entire Luke and Laura arc on General Hospital and a bunch of salt and ketchup packets from restaurants. You must know these precious secret things, it whispers in its little sicko voice.
A while ago a mentor and friend related the story of how in his youth he had once gotten lost thinking about the vastness of the universe and had to force himself to stop thinking about questions of how we got here and how the universe began, for the sake of his own sanity. I appreciated his well intentioned and subtle attempt to discourage me from seeking out information that would destroy my own mind. However.
Catastrophe: NOT averted! HAH!!
A little over a year after that, I found myself slipping in and out of my own mind, incapable of orienting myself in my immediate community, the larger world, or the universe.
My comforting thoughts of Boltzmann brains had been long replaced by less comforting thoughts, also of Boltzmann brains, and I began to wonder what I had ever found so appealing about the concept in the first place, and why I thought it would improve my mental state. (It absolutely did not, and I do not suggest you try it! I really can’t emphasize this enough — there’s a reason I call that guy my mentor.)
Is reality really so tenuous? Why can’t we disprove something so ridiculous? And what does it mean if all of this hasn’t meant anything?!
This is just a small sampling of the awful thoughts that swirled in my head when partaking in my special brand of “therapy.” Things began to mean less and less, mixing with images of bloody conflict and a life confined to my own mind and a ledge, getting closer each time with no way to stop it no matter how much I begged for help.
I don’t want to know what would happen if I go off that ledge, so I took a break from thinking about Boltzmann brains, and most other stuff too.
Anyway I am sure this is only the beginning of my beautiful journey to total and permanent wellness through the sincere belief that I am a fully formed brain that has randomly fluctuated into awareness for a few microseconds to fool me into thinking my heart has broken before while listening to the music of Roy Orbison, or that I grew up eating weird candy in Alberta, or that I am writing an asinine comedy article at this very moment.
Eat your heart out, Goop (and also the entire wellness influencer/grifter ecosystem). Your “alternative therapies” cannot harm me more than I can harm myself for free.
And say what you will about these brains, but they take gaslighting to a whole new level. This is the Truman Show on steroids. Doubting your own reality is easy when there is a tiny theoretical brain that has taken as long as 10 to the power 10 to the power of 69 (nice) years to nucleate in de Sitter space (and even less time in a Minkowski vacuum!), always waiting in the wings to remind you about how nothing is real.
Now off to learn about the possible ways the universe could end. Or I might just fluctuate out of existence — you never really know, do you?!
