A man using a social media app that reaches across dimensions to talk to himself in different timelines, discovers some of his problems are universal…and some are not…
Shaw couldn’t sleep so he doomscrolled the multiverse. First there was a shaky video of a landslide on his commute to work, from a hill he’d never realized had been that unsound. Next was a wall of text ranting about an ex-girlfriend, who in Shaw’s own universe he’d always wondered about asking out. Then came a picture of himself unboxing his new gaming PC, which in his universe he couldn’t afford.
These Shaws were everything he could have been, all posting from other lives on AllOne. The possibilities of AllOne went on for as long as his thumbs could scroll.
One post made him pause and rub the bruise on his eyebrow.
Can anyone else not sleep?
Over nine thousand comments argued about whether they shared a genetic predisposition for insomnia, and about whether not being able to sleep was the same as insomnia. A never-ending string of replies argued about whether you could be addicted to melatonin. Some of this was so similar to things Shaw had felt that he wondered if he’d actually typed them himself in a daze.
AllOne chimed like a parallel self had messaged him. He thumbed around but didn’t see any DMs. Annoying. This app was going to hell.
He turned his phone off and dropped his head on the pillow, staring at the yellow lights of the city reflected in his window. The pillow was too warm, so he flipped it. He thought about insomnia, and possible landslides on the commute to work, and the bare walls of his apartment where he’d always meant to put up his posters. He never had.
Then he was back on his phone. Back on AllOne.
Nobody else wears a mask where I work. Does it matter if I wear one?
That one almost got him angry enough to comment. Almost. Instead he read the bickering about how many of their dads had died from COVID.
There were fewer universes than he’d expected. When Shaw was a kid he’d thought the infinite multiverse meant there were universes out there with goblins and wizards, and where the planet Mars could talk, and where hammerhead sharks ran everything and computers were invented by superintelligent algae.
How did I get fired from the same gas station twice?????????
But probability was less creative than the average bored child.
Does anything I do matter?
AllOne chimed again. This time he saw the direct messages. A pop-up from AllOne offered to auto-delete it.
THEM
How are you doing? Like how are you actually doing?
He didn’t know if this was a bot, or if some jackass self was trolling other selves. Shaw scratched his head, thinking why anyone on this app would ask that. Everybody was miserable all the time.
So he made a joke out of it.
YOU
Give me your credit card information and I’ll be doing great.
Shaw rubbed the bruise on his eyebrow again, using the sting to center himself.
Then the other Shaw replied.
THEM
Oh shit I got through?
YOU
Wonders of the multiverse, right?
THEM
It’s been hell getting in contact with other selves. AllOne’s algorithm keeps auto-deleting and blocking us.
Shaw thought about the phantom chime he’d heard earlier. Was every chime he’d gotten on this app from another self trying to talk and getting blocked by an auto-moderator?
That seemed a bit much.
THEM
You need to know, AllOne is filtering what we see in our feeds.
YOU
I know AllOne filters. They get rid of boring stuff. Like I hid all the anime posts because those versions of me got really weird.
THEM
Anime is a diverse artform and you don’t know what you’re missing. But that’s not the point. AllOne hides most parallel universes. You’re not seeing most of what we are on here.
Shaw flipped over to his feed, where people were arguing about the worst political party. They didn’t share the same America and yet so many versions of him were furiously sure.
YOU
AllOne shows me millions of other mes. We’re not exactly stuck behind the Berlin Wall.
THEM
The algorithm shows us the ones that’ll make us doubt ourselves. Make us feel confused and mad. But only enough to stay engaged. It filters infinity so all of us stay on the app. It’s fucked some of us up. Fucked us up really bad.
Reading that made him want to bang his head against his window. AllOne wasn’t out to get him. Too many versions of himself thought the world was out to get them.
YOU
Are you listening to yourself? It’s an app. It’s not killing us.
THEM
I tried to kill myself last year.
Shaw’s fingers sweated around the edges of his screen. He pushed himself away from that sentence until he hit the headboard, clacking against his bare wall. His phone fell into his lap.
The screen glowed up at him. Those words were still there. He hadn’t misread.
What the hell? No version of him was suicidal. He would have remembered.
YOU
I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you post about it.
THEM
You couldn’t see it. AllOne’s algorithm segregates who sees what so we all stay perpetually engaged. If you really need the rest of us, it puts you in a limbo zone. No other self sees you. Like you’re unthinkable.
YOU
What happened? To you?
That was a tacky way of putting it. He couldn’t think of anything better. He put a fist over his bruise.
THEM
I jumped out my apartment window. It didn’t have to happen. I didn’t realize how bad I felt was until I was falling. It’s why I’m messaging as many of us as I can.
YOU
You’re messaging lots of us?
THEM
That’s how I know I’m not the only one who’s tried it.
YOU
Fuck.
THEM
It’s a weird question to ask yourself but I need to ask: are you okay? Have you done anything? Caught any signs or behaviors? Because you shouldn’t have to be alone.
He didn’t know what to say. That other Shaw had to have an answer he wanted to hear. That other Shaw had to know what signs were alarming. But Shaw wasn’t in that kind of dark pit.
Of course, this Shaw hadn’t thought he was either.
“Until I was falling,” he repeated out loud. That phrase swirled around in his head.
He had to say something. To at least comfort this other Shaw. Make him feel less alone.
Except the direct messages were gone. His whole DM window in AllOne was blank.
He refreshed it and found nothing. The whole conversation was gone. Like it hadn’t happened.
He scrolled the arguments about Thai food and sea monsters and climate change in his feed, hoping to find that one Shaw. How could he find a needle in a stack of needles?
And would AllOne hide it if he asked about this publicly?
Thinking about what the hell to do, he carried his phone over to the window. He rested his face against the glass, like he always did when his thoughts spun up too hard. The coolness faded as the glass leeched warmth from his skin. It reminded him of visiting the aquarium when he was a kid, and his mom grousing that he always ran to the same one exhibit and it wasn’t worth the money.
Without thinking, he banged his eye against the glass. His bruise lit up with pain, and he jolted.
The windowpane reflected his image, a gray silhouette. For the first time in a day and a half, he actually thought about how he’d given himself that bruise. How many times had he banged his head on the window without thinking?
His eyes moved from his reflection to the drop outside his window.
He didn’t know how to do this. How did one simply defy a company that treated universes like fodder? How did he make first contact with a version of himself that the Terms of Service forbade him from knowing existed?
Randomly. That’s the only way he could think to do it: with pure randomness. One Shaw posted a picture of a spilled milkshake on a sidewalk, with some text ranting about his awful day. He was as good a self as any to reach out to.
He opened the DM and tried.
YOU
Are you doing okay? Like, okay-okay?
No immediate reply. He waited so long that he found himself drifting back to his AllOne feed. To a surprisingly fervent argument about the coolest kind of sharks.
Then AllOne chimed.
THEM
What does okay-okay mean?
Well, the ice was broken. Now what?
Shaw thought with his thumbs.
YOU
Ever feel like AllOne is watching and choosing what you see? Like its algorithm was built to make us feel worse and powerless?
THEM
Don’t they have people looking at our stuff? They can see you saying this.
He’d looked that up. Hopefully his other self was looking it up right now.
YOU
They don’t employ nearly enough people to track most conversations, and their automod is flaky. AllOne believes in algorithms because algorithms can’t unionize.
THEM
If this isn’t a joke, you could get banned. Watch out for yourself.
Shaw brought the phone up to his face, his nose smudging sweat on the screen. It was real. God damn. That was genuine concern for himself—from himself. Something pinched inside his chest and a hiccup of a sob filled his mouth.
He felt tangible pride that this other version of him could care about someone else on a hard day, even if the person he cared about was technically him. He was caring about himself by caring about another self. The thought messed him up like crayons in a blender.
YOU
This is worth it. You’re the first “myself” I’ve asked.
THEM
Asked what?
Shaw took the slowest breath he could. Then he typed.
YOU
Do you ever get overwhelmed and mentally spiral? For so long you’re not sure how long you were doing it? And you just keep scrolling and spiraling without thinking about what’s wrong?
The pause unfurled. Shaw couldn’t help imagining this other self staring at his phone in disgust or clicking away to something fun. What if he got blocked and reported? This could kill his account.
AllOne chimed.
THEM
Fuck.
YOU
Are you okay?
THEM
I’m fucking crying into my phone. Do you spiral like that too? How many of us do this?
Shaw wiped at his bruised eye, blinking his vision clear.
YOU
I don’t know how many of us. There’s only one way to find out. I’m going to message more of us. Maybe you could, too?
THEM
Why are we like this? Did we all get fucked up because our parents stayed together and kept fighting for forever?
Shaw’s parents hadn’t stayed together. They’d divorced when he was eight—and it’d been great. They’d both become more present with him. Dad had been so much happier and taken him to all kinds of aquariums until he got sick.
And he still had this problem. So what was wrong with him? What had happened to all the Shaws?
AllOne went blank. The app helpfully informed Shaw he had no direct messages. That connection with himself was gone.
He gritted his teeth and thought about the mouths of sharks. He hadn’t imagined those in a long time. He’d forgotten he used to fantasize about what sharks would do to him if he fell into their tank.
He was a detective, and AllOne was the crime scene. He scrolled with purpose, making notes in a separate app. Just as many Shaws had divorced parents as ones who stayed together, and Dad was dead for many of them thanks to either COVID or his heart giving out. Shaws from all kinds of households seemed to rage and despair.
Was it the accident? Some Shaws posted pictures revealing the same road rash scarring he had all along his left leg. So it wasn’t the motorcycle accident. It seemed in many different life paths he still ate shit off his motorcycle. Nobody seemed to have head trauma. Did he need to get himself checked out at a doctor?
COVID was worse for some than others. It’d killed a lot of their dads, whereas Shaw’s was still alive and still complaining about college football. There were a couple posts suggesting a worse pandemic had followed COVID, and he didn’t have the strength to look at that.
He caught himself heading to the window, forehead down, ready to bang his head in frustration. He caught himself with both hands against the window frame.
Whether or not he could figure out why this was happening, he had to do something.
The least he could do was warn others. Spook them into reflecting on their habits. Yeah, a decent number of his selves called him an asshole or a snowflake or thought he was trolling. That still beat spending another minute at his window.
YOU
It’s okay if you don’t know why you’re struggling. I’m just saying. Talk to somebody after we get blocked. A therapist or a psychiatrist, whatever the difference is. A rabbi. A priest. Whoever might help you and that you’d trust.
THEM
I don’t know.
YOU
It’s okay to be overwhelmed.
He was basically saying that to himself.
THEM
How did you know?
YOU
Others of us have self-harmed. More have thought about it. You’re not alone.
THEM
I don’t want to think about it. It makes me tired to think about it.
That was some real shit. Just this conversation made Shaw want to lie down.
YOU
It’s hard for me to face it, too.
THEM
I haven’t posted anywhere about this. I figured they’d ban me or something. I haven’t talked to anybody offline about it, either.
YOU
About what?
THEM
A few weeks ago. I wasn’t thinking. Just on reflex, I tried to do it.
Shaw cupped his phone, eyes softening at the screen. His entire body arched inward, emoting sympathy at a person who couldn’t see him. This other self had no idea. Shaw couldn’t help himself.
YOU
What happened?
THEM
I’m not going to talk about it. I did it wrong. I didn’t mean to survive. I just fucked up so hard. I failed at one more thing, you know?
YOU
I always feel like a fuck-up. Like I’m never getting anything done.
THEM
A lot of us are like that.
YOU
But you still being alive? That’s doing something. That’s a fucking success to me.
THEM
Thanks, me.
The flippancy caught Shaw off guard and he barked a laugh. Of course they had the same sense of humor. He thumbed a tear out of the corner of his eye.
THEM
I never thought about DMing about this. About if they’re hiding what I’m hiding.
YOU
I didn’t, either. Until one of us did it for me.
THEM
I’m going to do it for others. Because of you.
Moments later AllOne blocked them from each other. Shaw was left to stare at the empty, white walls of his room, wondering what he’d just kicked off. That suicide survivor self was going to start checking in on others. A week ago, another suicide survivor self had messaged him. Who’d started this? Had a survivor Shaw warned a Shaw who hadn’t yet gone too far, who in turn warned a survivor, who would now go on to catch others who hadn’t yet gone too far?
Could kindness be a paradox?
THEM
Holy shit. It’s a rerun.
Shaw scrunched up his face at the message. This was a new response. Did this self think he was a bot?
YOU
I’m just checking in on you because a lot of us are hurting. Are you okay? Psychologically?
THEM
I know. One of us messaged me four days ago. I’ve actually started reaching out to us. I never thought a second me would check in.
Shaw’s brain fizzled out. He was not smart enough to handle this kind of quantum mechanical nonsense. Someone had beat him to check on himself? Was the ripple of Shaws catching on, or was this one guy incredibly lucky?
THEM
We could get separated any moment. Let me ask you something. I need to know.
YOU
What?
Shaw would tell him anything. This could be a clever bot phishing for rogue Shaws and he’d still answer any questions it asked. It was worth the risk.
THEM
Do we just sit in a room hyperfocusing on sending out wellness checks to ourselves, the same way we previously fixated on the patterns of doomscrolling, and collecting shark posters, and all that shit? Or do we come up with the next goal for what you do after this? I’ve been dying to ask one of us who’s ahead of me.
Shaw started typing an argument—that checking in on other Shaws was saving lives. This was important work. They had to lift each other out of the cycle that was hurting them.
But this Shaw was asking as much for himself as for any of them. Did he need something to look forward to?
Didn’t they all need that?
Shaw looked through half-lidded eyes at his tiny apartment, the walls still bare, the take-out containers piling up beside his laundry pile.
What he was doing on AllOne was good. But it was also another fixation that hadn’t gotten him out of the apartment much, even though he knew he could take his phone anywhere. He gritted his teeth, baring them, thinking of swimming monsters.
He pulled the cardboard box from under his bed, where he kept all the old art. He pulled out one of his posters and unrolled it. Blue hues were bleached from years of light exposure, yet the patterns on those fins were the same as he remembered.
Ninety seconds later, AllOne severed their connection. But by then, he’d already told his other self what he had to look forward to. What he had to do next.
He spammed the shit out of the multiverse. Every cool picture of a hammerhead shark circling a camera. Videos of eels trailing along a large pale belly. Every question about marine biology he could have just as easily looked up. His posts were chum in the water.
Most of the Shaws mocked him for still being in his “shark phase.” He dunked on himself savagely. They’d only gotten laid after they’d moved on, and he needed to do the same. No surprises there. He already knew he had the capacity to be an asshole.
In those times, he relied on the best skill AllOne had given him: scrolling with his eyes glazed over. Insults barely mattered, especially when he knew they were coming from a swarm of himselves every bit as insecure as he was.
What he picked out were the selves who responded enthusiastically to his posts. He DM’d as many of them as he could. After he checked on their mental health, if AllOne didn’t interrupt the connection too fast, he had more questions for them.
And they had answers.
THEM
Yeah, I’ve been in marine bio for six years. How long have you been studying?
He hadn’t studied. Not for one day.
Today was the beginning.
He messaged Shaw after Shaw, grateful for any that replied.
THEM
We made them out to be the worst monster on earth because occasionally we break into their home and they mistake us for food. Sharks aren’t monsters.
YOU
And neither are we. Right?
He kept reaching out.
THEM
I couldn’t sit this one out. Sharks are getting screwed as the oceans get hotter. Their prey dies off. Fewer waterways are inhabitable.
He kept reaching out.
THEM
I get that it’s been bad. But literally how long has it been since you got your feet wet?
Shaw closed his eyes and imagined his bedroom window, dim, catching the little yellow points of light from out in the dusky city. The blaring car horns and sirens, and his downstairs neighbors’ band practicing. He could almost feel the hardness of the glass against his face, and reflexively he prepared to bang his head on it. Not reliving it was not an option.
There was no glass in front of him. No barrier out here, except the briny wind.
Shaw jumped and plunged off the edge of the boat, and down into the sea. The weights and chainmail made him plunge straight down, the sunlight fading like God was lowering the dimmer switch. The water enveloped him and pulled him down until his flippers hit the ocean floor.
The reef sharks swam at him with their pale snouts turned up, white bib underbellies absorbing all the light, so that their faces briefly looked like monks studying this new alien intruder. They swished past him and along a school of tiny silver fish.
He twisted in the water to watch them, body slowed by the friction, trying to follow the enormous strength of the sharks’ tails. They were circling. They were coming back for him. One lithe reef shark came straight at him, tail swishing, black eyes eternally wide.
Shaw greeted the beast with a palm across the tip of its nose. For the shortest moment he’d never forget, it nuzzled into his palm.
Then it dashed away on water currents. It took the pinch in his chest with it.
That shark circled around, though. It swam through his general area, tail slow, seeking out the sensation that had just happened. Like his coach had taught him, he held up his armored palm for it to shove into a second helping of nose-pets. Then a third helping, before a chubbier reef shark butted in and discovered the joy.
For his entire session down on the ocean floor, the sharks never got tired of getting their snouts patted. Shaw never got tired of petting them, either.
When he surfaced, he didn’t want to take the crane harness off. He wanted to go back down there right away, to hyperfocus on befriending fish. If he held on to it, could this be a new normal?
The entire ride back to shore was an opportunity to pump the boat driver and instructors for information. No, he didn’t have a history with this stuff—not yet. No, he didn’t want to take over the operation. He just wanted to pitch in. To show other people how this felt.
As the shore appeared over the prow, he sent one new DM. One a day, that was the limit now, to keep from obsessing while still letting him try to help. Every self deserved that much. He told this Shaw about how he was being deceived by the algorithm, and how he wasn’t alone if he was in a dark place. He got so invested typing that the boat’s driver squawked with laughter.
“You’re on AllOne? Isn’t that thing a nightmare?”
“I’ll Miss Myself” copyright © 2024 by John Wiswell
Art copyright © 2024 by Eva Redamonti
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