We Just Want to Make You Happy :)
This contains spoilers for Pluribus (2025).
TW: This article contains discussions of depression and mental illness.
When everything’s right in your life, are you the problem? In Pluribus (2025), the solution to your loneliness is simple: become one with the Hivemind and open your memories to all 8 billion people on this earth. There is no shame, no embarrassment, no suffering or confusion, for you are all one. After receiving an alien radio signal from outer space, scientists around the world gather to decode it, but what they discover isn’t a message from extraterrestrial life: it’s an RNA sequence for a lysogenic virus that infects the world through mere touch. It programmed a new biological imperative into humankind: end all human suffering and bring collective happiness to mankind. As long as you become one of them. For Carol Struka, the answer is no. She’d rather wallow in her misery–her individual misery–than sacrifice who she is for mindless happiness. I’m reminded of my own experiences through Carol’s efforts to mission the world to its original state. Carol’s journey and her hostility to the Hivemind, at first glance, reads as a thrilling utopian sci-fi story. But between the lines, her story tells the devastating effects of depression, mental illness, and suicide.
In the synopsis, Carol is introduced as “the most miserable person on Earth,” and the pilot makes that immediately clear. Despite her seemingly eidetic life as a successful, award-winning novelist whose most recent book has climbed its way to the New York Times Bestsellers List, Carol carries vehement disdain towards both her work and her adoring fans. In flashbacks throughout the series, we see that Carol has carried such misery with her for a long, long time. As a teenager, she was forced into conversion camp, a traumatic experience that continues to haunt her well into adulthood that keeps her stuck in the closet, too scared to reveal her true self. Her novel, where the smoldering male lead has captured the hearts of female fans around the world, was originally written to be a woman. What should’ve been her pride and joy, echoes the impact of her time at conversation therapy that keeps her chained to heteronormativity and the fear of being perceived as a lesbian. She drowns her feelings in so much alcohol to the point that Helen, her manager and secret wife, locks her car engine behind a breathalyzer. Carol is grouchy, rude, and generally unlikable throughout both the pilot and the majority of the series.
But can you really blame her? In my opinion, her anger and hatred towards the Hivemind is justifiable, afterall, they killed her wife. In Episode 1, we watch Carol and Helen celebrating the release of Carol’s new novel at a bar–moments before disaster. The two make their way outside; Carol’s drunk, bemoaning her fans as Helen chastises her. Then–silence. Carol turns around to face Helen’s collapsed body. When the virus reached Helen, her body seized up and convulsed as her head smashed into the asphalt ground. Carol runs back to the bar to get help, but to her horror, everyone else is the same: motionless on the floor or convulsing on their knees. There’s no time to panic. Carol lugs Helen’s body into the car and speeds towards the nearest hospital. All around her, society is unraveling. Cars abandoned on the road, electricity shut off, streets littered with bodies and chaos. None of that matters to Carol. All that matters is getting Helen help. But as she pulls into the hospital, her hopes are shattered: the hospital is strewn with the same motionless bodies. By the time she returns to Helen, it’s too late. Cradling Helen in her arms, Carol watches the life fade away from her eyes as her body slumps for one final time.
Officially dubbed “The Joining” by the Hivemind, society fell in one day, but by dawn, had completely rebuilt itself into an optimized utopia.
Helen was the one person who saw Carol beyond her prickly exterior, and she is taken from Carol by a group of mysterious beings who claim they want the best for her. The head injury that might've been easily cured for by a doctor was rendered impossible by the chaos of The Joining.
Her private, intimate moments with Helen and the secrets they shared are suddenly flowing out of the mouths of a stranger, of every stranger on the planet. At the root of her disdain for the Hivemind, however, is a deep seeded fear that they will find a way to turn her into Them. Carol values her individuality above all else; who she is, regardless of how angry and miserable she may be, is what makes Carol herself.
Unlike traditional apocalyptic shows, the cataclysm doesn’t end the world, it reshapes it into a seemingly idyllic utopia. It becomes harder and harder to hate the Hivemind. They’ve ended war, violence, famine, discrimination, and all human suffering. When Carol lashes out at them, curses them out, throws away their gifts, and even hospitalizes Zosia, her assigned companion, they forgive her. Using their access to Helen’s memories, a last minute absorption according to the Hivemind that enraged Carol, they bring her favorite meals and gifts to lift her spirits. “We just want to make you happy, Carol.” That’s their motto. They can’t lie, and they can’t harm living things—not even plants. All they want to do, presumably, is to make you happy. To Carol, that sounds too good to be true. No one is just kind to you.
As viewers, we’re skeptical alongside Carol, questioning the true intentions and natures of the Hivemind despite their innocent facade. For a moment, we feel vindicated when Carol discovers that the Hivemind eats humans by processing deceased human bodies into a white powder, human based protein (HBP), added to milk that allows them to reach the minimum caloric intake. But their reasoning is subjectively valid. The Hivemind's very existence does not allow them to harm any living thing, and they can thereby only rely on processed foods and already existing resources—a supply that is dwindling by the second. What Carol truly wanted was proof that the Hivemind was dangerous, that they had an ulterior motive behind the extravagant gestures and phony smiles to erase her individuality and turn her into one of them.
As I watched Pluribus, I couldn’t help but draw parallels between Carol’s behavior and my own experiences with depression. Her erratic behavior, explosive anger, sadness that she drowns out with alcohol, subtle self-destructive actions, and desperate vendetta against the Hive mind— these are all attempts by Carol to cope with her reality and continue living. Her inability to trust the Hivemind reflects how a person struggling with depression feels unworthy of connection and instead self-isolates and pushes people away. We can see some semblance of connection through Carol’s relationship with Zosia, whose support and understanding of Carol makes her waver. When Koumba Diabaté, another human unaffected by the virus, requests for Zosia to join him and his entourage of adoring female guides, Carol pretends to be unbothered and relents. However, just before their respective flights take-off, she runs after Zosia. When Carol’s attempts to uncover the Other’s secrets and test the limits of their love result in Zosia being hospitalized, she’s wrecked with guilt. By Episode 7, they start a romantic relationship.
Carol’s conflict with the Hivemind parallels the experiences of having depression and facing an isolating society where your struggle feels painfully obvious. Pluribus is a discussion of depression and isolation against a world where everyone is happy. Ultimately, the series reveals the devastating effects of wrestling with mental illness through a sci-fi horror that encapsulates the torment of these lived experiences. Carol is quite literally going against the world who’s actively trying to make her happy.
What I really enjoyed is that Carol’s distrust and suspicions were right. Throughout the entire series, Carol is the only person who questions the true motives of the Hivemind–who questions societal expectations. The other unaffected citizens embrace the Hivemind with open arms and even express a desire to join them. Learning that the only other people who share her burden are completely against her goals leaves Carol feeling more isolated than ever. And after learning how little Helen valued her writing by probing the Hivemind for answers, her mental fortitude crumbles at the realization that the person she loved most in the world lied to her to keep her happy. How different was that from the Hivemind? That loneliness eroded her resolve to resist the Hivemind and she finally succumbs to her feelings for Zosia. For a moment, she loses her true self and becomes a quieter, more agreeable version of herself—the kind that bites her tongue and performs the role expected of her, just to keep the peace.
Representation for mental illness in television depict these struggles as utterly debilitating. We mope around at school, sleep every night away, and spiral into self-harm. While that’s certainly one aspect of depression, reducing depression to only its most extreme expressions flattens the reality of living with it. It reduces a person to just their mental illness. There’s an overwhelming representation that portrays depression as a quiet march towards suicide. What I think there needs to be more of is a depiction of the quiet, more complicated reality of how we live with depression. Not always fighting it, not always overcoming it, but carrying it through everyday life. Depression seeps into everything. Every decision, every bad moment, every good one. Even happiness can feel heavy. There is guilt in feeling okay, and a lingering fear that joy is temporary, that the darkness will return.
Carol isn’t “cured” by love or a successful career. She doesn’t completely break down and become catatonic after her wife dies and the entire world is overtaken. Yes, she grieves. Yes, she self-destructs. But not once does she consider suicide. Carol’s desperate attempts to investigate the Hivemind and incite the remaining survivors of The Joining a refreshing and raw portrayal of living with a mental illness. She balances the complex emotions of grief and the human will to live. I found Pluribus’s portrayal of an adult struggling with mental illness all too realistic.
The framing of suicide as an escape from the pain of reality in other television shows is a flimsy, shallow take on mental illness. Another TV show I watched, The Magicians, a fantasy series based on a book series whose protagonist, Quentin Clearwaters, struggles with depression throughout the series. As the series progresses, his struggles with depression often interfere with his resolve to fight but he shows clear attempts to improve and overcomes several key fears and insecurities holding him back. But in the last season, the show kills him and frames his death as the true respite to his depression. What kind of message does that send? That people with depression can’t truly be happy and that death would put them out of their misery?
In the finale, it’s almost cathartic to be proven right. The Others were lying. And now they have a way to turn Carol into one of them. The eggs she’d frozen with Helen to save for their future children contain her stem cells, the very thing the Hivemind needed to recreate the Joining. In this way, they’re not breaking Carol’s initial declaration that they can’t extract stem cells from her. We all saw it coming, but like Carol, the slow erosion of our distrust through their grand overwhelming love and support has made even audiences trust the Hivemind too. The Hivemind upholds the exact same rigid rules and expectations for Carol. They demand conformity and ignore her true wishes: to maintain her individuality. “Carol, please understand we have to do this because we love you,” Zosia tells her. Truly, to the Hivemind, making everyone submit to
To me, the Hivemind is a satirical, exaggerated commentary on societal expectations. The kind words and pretty faces are nothing but a mask for the calculated deceit and subtle manipulation. While the Hivemind might’ve erased war, violence, and discrimination, they maintained the one thing that glues society together: conformity. Regardless of how much Carol has expressed she doesn’t want to join them, on the surface, they nod their heads,smile, and promise they’ll never do anything she doesn't want. Behind her back, they steal her eggs, collect her stem cells, and plot to turn her into one of them.
Carol’s journey is reflective of the ups and downs of managing depression. When she finally meets Manousos Oviedo, another Unaffected member that shares the same distrust of the Hivemind and the same goal to restore society, Carol is too lost in the fantasy that the Hivemind has created in Zosia. Her suspicions have wavered and what’s taken root instead is a small hope that Zosia’s affections for her are unique and individual. Throughout the show, Carol yearned for connection with another person unaffected by the Hivemind, but now that Manousos was standing before her, she realizes that a conscious human who can lie, trick, and manipulate her is now less trustworthy than the Hivemind she once vehemently hated. She even abandons Manousos to run off with Zosia, high off her infatuation and desperation for love. But even at her seemingly highest point in the show, she confesses to Zosia, in their ski getaway, ““I don’t think I’m good at just feeling good.” It’s these small details and careful choices that weave out Carol’s struggles with depression and makes Carol, and Pluribus as a whole, such a raw and realistic portrayal of living with depression. It’s not the show’s central focus, but that’s what makes it so powerful. Dealing with depression is not the central theme or trait of a person’s life, it’s only one–albeit a major one–that contributes to how you experience the world and live your life.