My son is 27 and he doesn’t have any friends or social life.
He spends most of his days at home, usually shut away in his room, just staring at the wall or out the window.
He barely touches his phone anymore. He says being outside feels too overwhelming for him—he complains that it’s too noisy and bright.
The TV in his room is always playing, but he never really pays attention to it. Mostly, he just sits there, lost in his thoughts.
It’s gotten to the point where I worry he’s becoming disconnected from reality. He works at a small electronics shop a few blocks away—his manager is actually one of our neighbors. Even at work, his boss has mentioned he sometimes just stands there, zoned out, staring into space.
He rarely speaks to anyone, even at home.
When it’s time for dinner, he just grabs his food and goes straight back to his room.
I tried to talk to him last night, but all he said was, “What’s the point? Life just moves too fast.”
Earlier today, while he was at work, I looked through his computer. I found receipts for a bunch of online purchases—mostly electronics and games—and a lot of adult content.
Honestly, I’m scared for my son.
First off, thank you for reaching out. I can hear the worry in every line you wrote, and I want you to know—being scared for your kid, even your grown-up kid, is a sign you love him. But right now, you’re doing what a lot of loving parents do: you’re so overwhelmed with fear that you’re trying to control, to investigate, to “fix”—and it’s making you more anxious, not less.
Let’s talk about what you described. Your 27-year-old son isn’t living—he’s just existing. He avoids light, avoids people, avoids even the things most people his age would find some meaning in. He eats alone, doesn’t connect with friends, doesn’t talk, just… stares. He’s buying video games and pornography, but he isn’t connecting to anything or anyone. You found all this out by going through his computer, and now you’re scared.
So, let’s break this down. Your son is showing all the classic signs of deep, possibly clinical, depression. Maybe even something more. The “life is too short” comment, the isolating, the staring off into space, not wanting to be outside, disconnection from everything—these aren’t just quirks. These are red flags waving in the wind, screaming for help.
And let’s be really clear about something: You’re not going to solve this by policing his computer or checking up with his boss. This is way, way beyond “just get outside and make some friends.” This is about mental health, and it’s deadly serious.
You need to talk to him—not as a detective, not as a parent with a list of demands, but as a fellow human being who loves him and is worried sick. Sit with him. Be gentle, but be honest. “I love you. I’m worried about you. I’ve noticed you seem really down and checked out of life. I don’t want you to be alone in this. Will you let me help you find someone to talk to?” And then shut up and listen. No judgment. No lectures. Just be there.
And if he shrugs you off? If he says he doesn’t need help? You call a counselor, you talk to your doctor, you get backup. If you ever—ever—get the sense he’s thinking about hurting himself or others, you call a crisis line immediately and don’t try to handle it on your own.
This is scary. It’s heartbreaking. But it’s not hopeless. Real connection, therapy, sometimes medication—these things help people every single day. Your son is not broken beyond repair. But he is lost and hurting, and he needs you—present, loving, and in his corner. Not as a warden, but as a parent who refuses to give up.
You can’t control his choices, but you can love him fiercely and make sure he knows he’s not alone, even when he feels like he is. That’s your job. That’s your gift. And it might just save his life.