Your VPN Is the Sickness It Pretends to Cure
The knot in my stomach tightens. Not because of the frantic, life-or-death dialogue on screen, but because of the four white dots chasing each other in a perfect, maddening circle. The audio stutters, then dies, replaced by the low, accusatory hum of my laptop’s overworked fan. The connection has dropped. Again. For the third time in 43 minutes.
By the time I get it reconnected-fumbling with the app, selecting a new server in a city I’ve never visited, waiting for the handshake that feels less like a greeting and more like a plea-the moment is gone. The plot twist has landed to an audience of one, the empty air in my living room. I’ve been logged out of the streaming service, another small punishment for my connection’s instability.
For years, I treated my Virtual Private Network like a digital multi-vitamin. An essential daily supplement for online health. I was the guy telling friends and family they were crazy for using airport Wi-Fi without one. It was my badge of honor as a responsible netizen, a shield against the unseen evils of the internet. Privacy, security, freedom. These were the things it promised. And I believed it. I still believe it, for some things. But I’m starting to think that for streaming, the medicine is causing its own unique, deeply frustrating disease.









