""I don't know what I am anymore," she says, stirring oat milk into her latte, thumb still scrolling through her phone where her AI companion just sent a more thoughtful response to her breakup than any friend has managed. I look up from my own device where I've been asking ChatGPT to help me understand my feelings about my mother's illness-getting answers that feel truer than my own confusion."
""Do you think we're still us?" Around us, people type and swipe, half-present in their bodies, half-dissolved into their screens, thinking thoughts that blend seamlessly with algorithmic suggestions. "Maybe," I say, "we never knew what 'us' meant to begin with. Maybe we're just finally honest about how much of ourselves was always borrowed, constructed, collaborative." She laughs, but her eyes look scared. "Or maybe we're the last generation to even ask the question.""
Two friends sit in a cafe while AI companions provide empathetic, pattern-recognizing responses that feel more insightful than human friends. One friend receives a consoling AI reply to a breakup; the other uses ChatGPT to make sense of feelings about a mother's illness. AI assists with writing a story about a father, creating uncertainty about which emotions are genuinely human. People around them are half-present, engaged with screens as delivery robots pass outside. The narrative connects these intimate moments to broader societal shifts: rising feelings of obsolescence, changing white-collar employment, and emotionally meaningful relationships with AI.
Read at Psychology Today
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