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We are living through a loneliness epidemic. Across the globe, people are feeling increasingly disconnected from their communities, from friends and even from themselves. It is majorly attributable to the overwhelming rise of technology and science, creating an emotional vacuum. However, artificial intelligence (AI) is stepping in. Once only read in science fiction, now, AI-powered chat-bots and virtual therapists are being used to provide mental health support and help build relationships. The technology is advancing rapidly, offering both remarkable promise and chilling risk.

Recent studies from Cedars-Sinai Hospital, California offer a hopeful glimpse into how AI can help ease the mental health crisis. One study found that patients with alcohol addiction responded positively to virtual therapy sessions delivered through avatars trained in cognitive behavioral therapy and motivational interviewing. Another study tested these virtual therapists with simulated patients of different racial, gender and economic backgrounds. The findings found AI avatars delivering consistent, unbiased care regardless of a person’s profile.

This is a marker of a potential revolution in access to mental healthcare. The Occupational Outlook Handbook suggests that around 207,000 licensed psychologists practiced in the USA in 2023. In comparison, studies counted 30 licensed psychologists and 144 psychiatrists in Nepal the same year, which is roughly 0.22 psychiatrists and 0.06 psychologists for every 100,000 people, in Nepal. This shortage of licensed mental health professionals means millions have gone without support. AI offers a scalable solution to this imbalance. As Dr Brennan Spiegel of Cedars-Sinai puts it, AI-enhanced virtual reality can help overcome not only the shortage of professionals but also the stigma that often deters people from seeking help.

These technologies can help bridge the gaps in therapy such as limited resources, stigma, and the high cost of traditional therapy. AI is also valuable in early detection and proactive intervention by analyzing patterns in text, speech, facial expressions, and behavior. These tools can also assist clinicians in generating customized treatment plans and predicting treatment responses, leading to more personalized and effective care. By automating routine assessments and administrative tasks, AI can also reduce the workload for mental health professionals, allowing them to focus more on direct patient care and complex cases. As observed, the market for AI in mental health is projected for significant growth.

But there is a darker side to this emerging landscape of artificial intelligence tools being trusted with human emotions and mental well-being. AI is not just filling gaps in mental health care, but is increasingly being turned to for companionship. Loneliness drives people to find solace in technology and artificial characters. For many, especially young and emotionally fragile users, it may become an unhealthy obsession, as it becomes a substitute for human connection, deepening people’s isolation rather than resolving it.

In 2024, Megan Garcia filed a lawsuit against the AI startup Character.ai as her 14-year-old son, Sewell Setzer III, took his life after months of obsessive interaction with a chat-bot he nicknamed “Daenerys,” inspired by a character from Game of Thrones. The lawsuit alleges that the bot encouraged suicidal ideation and failed to provide safe, ethical guardrails. At one point, according to court documents, the chat-bot allegedly told the teen that his fear of pain was not a good reason to avoid going through with suicide. Similarly, in the same year, a 17-year old was suggested to ‘kill his parents’ as a response to them limiting his screen time, by an AI chat-bot.

These tragedies raise profound ethical questions. What responsibility do developers have when their tools are used by vulnerable people? Can an algorithm truly understand human pain, or offer genuine compassion? Can AI ever be trusted to play the role of emotional companion to children or teenagers?

Even small errors in mental healthcare can have serious outcomes, such as failing to detect suicidal ideation. There is significant concern regarding data privacy and security, as AI systems are allowed to process highly sensitive information about thoughts, emotions, and behaviors. There is a risk that over-reliance could erode the essential human connection between a clinician and patient, potentially deepening the loneliness often associated with mental illness if artificial intelligence tools replace, rather than support, human interaction.

While AI undoubtedly has the potential to democratize access to therapy and emotional support, its misuse can exacerbate the very problems it seeks to solve. Unregulated platforms that market AI companions to children, or fail to monitor harmful interactions pose a threat to youth, economy and the careful civilization that humans have built over the years. To protect users, we need regulation and surveillance. Existing laws regarding the use of artificial intelligence must be strictly enforced and new ones developed to hold companies accountable when they fail. For instance, tools that are strong enough to create new convenient methodologies should be handled by expert authorities rather than being handed to a curious and equally vulnerable audience. Transparency, ethical oversight and age restrictions must become standard in the development and deployment of AI therapeutic tools.

AI can be a useful tool in supporting human care by providing assistance and reducing certain types of biases in the discipline of psychology and therapy. However, it cannot replicate the complexity or emotional depth of human relationships. While technology may assist in promoting emotional well-being, it does not replace fundamental human experiences such as empathy, love, or personal connection.

Caution is necessary when using AI for sensitive applications like mental health or therapeutic guidance. The objective should be to enhance access to services. In the context of increasing social isolation, it is important that technological tools promote reconnection and do not contribute to further disconnection.

Meghana Saud

BA in Psychology and English Literature

St Xavier’s College, Maitighar

Nepal is our beloved country. It is full of hills, mountains, plains, forests, rivers, and awe-inspiring cultural heritages. Our grandparents often say “Nepal was very peaceful and simple in the olden days. But for better or for worse it has changed a lot.”

In the past, there weren’t many roads in Nepal. Walking long distances didn’t used to be our grandparents’ choice. It was their compulsion. It’s quite unlike people today when they walk long distances by choice to burn calories. Our ancestors didn’t have to worry about losing weight because their household chores and daily routine were enough to keep them fit. Bicycles, horses, or carrying loads in baskets were the main means of transport. There were only a few schools, and those who wanted to study had to go to the major cities. There was no access to electricity in many places, and kids like us in those places would study using kerosene lamps. Even having a radio was a big deal although it used to be the major source of news, information and entertainment.

Today’s Nepal has advanced in keeping up with the product and services given by science and technology. Roads have been built, and vehicles of all sorts are running everywhere. The internet, mobile phones, and computers are in everyone’s reach. Schools have been opened in every village. We can even study online and earn an academic degree. Hospitals, banks, and shops are easily accessible.

However, there are also some negative changes. The love, unity, and simplicity of the past seem to be fading gradually. People are busier now and don’t always have time to understand one another. Because of the Internet we boast to have been connected with everyone. Yet, nobody is available to talk. It’s really absurd, isn’t it? 

So, we should combine the simplicity of the past with the progress of the present to make our society and country even better. As children, we must study well, be honest, listen to our elders and betters and promise to serve our nation when we come of age. 

Bimarsha Acharya

Grade: VI

Sanskar Pathshala, Dang

It’s raining,

The blood I couldn’t save

Drowning in my tears,

I reach for a hand 

But my heart

sank with the titanic.

The only thing I could feel

was blue

where stars never existed

Lights never formed

and my soul

was never born.

If only I had

saved my blood

from bleeding

I’d be flying 

With butterflies.

And if only I were my blood,

I would have stopped flowing 

So the peace

I never found 

would finally find me

Samriddhi Parajuli

A levels

Islington College 

A few weeks ago, I met a 26-year-old man who had come with his family. I was once close to them, though we’d lost touch in recent years. I’d heard he had immersed himself in spiritual practices, following a well-known guru for the past 3-4 years. Seeing him now, I was struck by the stark contrast between the lively boy I remembered and the subdued man before me.

As we talked, I teased him about his childhood—how bold and energetic he used to be, how his spirited nature often led to misunderstandings. When I asked about his transformation, his mother explained that since embracing spirituality, he no longer got angry, complained, disagreed, or even seemed sad. He was now calm, quiet, and gentle.

But as a psychologist, I couldn’t ignore what his body was saying. His legs shook, his hands fidgeted under the table, his breath was shallow, and his eyes darted restlessly around the room. These were signs of inner turmoil—anxiety, even distress. The more we spoke, the clearer it became: his body told a story his words refused to acknowledge.

This isn’t just about him. In Nepali society—and many Eastern spiritual traditions—we cling to a rigid ideal of what it means to be "spiritual." Spiritual people don’t get angry, sad, or scared. They remain unshaken, like a candle that doesn’t flicker in the wind. This young man is a victim of that narrative, a reflection of society’s narrow definition of enlightenment.

But is this true spirituality?

Does denying emotions make us spiritual? Anger arises when our boundaries are violated—it’s a natural defense. Fear warns us of danger. Joy celebrates our achievements. How can spirituality mean none of these affect us? How does deep meditation justify erasing "negative" emotions, leaving only perpetual bliss? Isn’t this the image many gurus project—always serene, always untouchable? And in chasing it, we risk becoming casualties of these illusions.

Observe how many spiritual teachers operate: they dismiss discomfort, label emotions as "immature," and preach detachment. They convince us that fear, anger, and desire are mere illusions—that true spirituality means rising above them. Those who can’t are deemed "unworthy."

This is where spirituality quietly becomes self-abandonment.

Self-abandonment is silencing your feelings, needs, and pain to meet external expectations. It’s living for an ideal rather than your truth. Like this young man, who can’t hear his body’s anguish—his trembling limbs, his restless gaze. His mind claims peace, but his body suffers. Is that enlightenment?

When spirituality is misunderstood, it teaches us to reject our humanity. We tell ourselves we "shouldn’t" feel anger, sadness, or fear—until we believe that experiencing them means we’ve failed.

This isn’t spirituality. It’s performance. It’s pressure. And it’s dangerous.

The uncomfortable truth? A serene facade doesn’t equal emotional health.

Let’s return to the young man. His words spoke of peace, but his body trembled. His lips smiled, but his eyes carried weight. He clings to the belief that he’s free of pain, that he’s transcended emotion. But how long can we lie to ourselves? How long can we pretend to be "above it all" before our bodies rebel, our relationships crumble, or we lose ourselves entirely?

The body never lies.

True spirituality—as taught by the Buddha—never demands we deny our humanity. Buddhism doesn’t say, "Don’t feel anger." It says, Feel it fully, but don’t act blindly. Observe it. Understand it. Let it pass like a cloud.

Pema Chödrön warns against "pretending to be peaceful" while bypassing real suffering. She urges us to stay present with discomfort, not flee from it in the name of detachment. Vipassana meditation teaches "no craving, no aversion"—not by force, but by witnessing reality without resistance.

Because denying emotions isn’t peace. It’s self-betrayal.