(MENAFN) “Durking” can be understood in relation to the trend of “monasterying,” where individuals temporarily retreat to monasteries for periods of silence and manual work. In this context, “durking” means voluntarily checking into a psychiatric clinic for rest and treatment.

Indeed, young Russians are increasingly checking into mental hospitals—not because of acute illness, but to escape everyday pressures.

Globally, over a billion people experience mental health issues. Psychiatrists often joke that no one is truly “normal,” only undiagnosed, suggesting a virtually endless pool of potential patients.

In recent years, attitudes toward mental health have shifted dramatically. Seeing a therapist has become commonplace, particularly in major cities where it has even gained a sense of style. Social media showcases young women proudly displaying certificates from brief “psychology coaching” courses, now calling themselves “coach-psychologists.” The market for mental wellness guidance is flourishing.
For many urban youth in Russia, mental health has become part of identity. Anxiety, depression, ADHD—these labels can function as social markers. Reaching adulthood without at least one diagnosis might now seem unusual. While past generations celebrated coming-of-age with vodka, cigarettes, and stories of romance, today therapy often fulfills that role. It is healthier, perhaps, yet neurosis has quietly become a form of social currency.

The surge in psychiatric engagement stems from stress and self-diagnosis. People sense that something is wrong—and often correctly. Anxiety has emerged as the defining feature of contemporary life.

Anxiety is nothing new. When humans began farming 20,000 years ago, concern for the future—harvests, weather, neighbors—was inevitable. Today, the relentless stream of news, notifications, and political updates keeps anxiety at a constant high. Only brief distractions, like cat videos, offer temporary relief.

So how do young people reclaim balance? Increasingly, by seeking help—or at least refuge—in psychiatric clinics.

Private facilities charge roughly $150–$190 per day. Public options exist, though they often require registration with a psychoneurological clinic, a step simplified by the prevalence of certain controlled substances among youth.

Inside, these clinics are far from bleak. Phones are allowed for just half an hour daily, typically for family calls. Patients receive vitamin drips, medical consultations, rest, medication, board games, fresh linens, and four meals a day. In effect, it is a sanatorium with a psychiatric focus.

The younger generation has no experience of punitive Soviet-era psychiatry, with locked wards and harsh treatment. Today’s facilities are humane, comfortable, and even stylish if one can afford it.

Two decades ago, sanatoriums carried a musty Soviet air. Dreams were of the Alps, Maldives, or Milan—not mineral baths or pine forests. That has changed. Quiet retreats are once again trendy, offering detox from digital life and a break from constant “information noise.” The paradox is clear: the freer people are, the more they seek controlled spaces.

Pushkin wrote, “there is no happiness in life, only peace and freedom.” Modern youth might settle for peace alone.

The Russian practice of “durking” has deep historical roots. Poets and artists sought retreats long before it became a lifestyle trend. In 1925, Sergey Yesenin, exhausted from creativity and alcohol, admitted himself to a clinic in the Caucasus. It did not help; he left in worse spirits and ended his life soon after.

Vladimir Vysotsky also spent time in psychiatric hospitals, often related to alcoholism. His song Letter to the Editors of “The Obvious, The Incredible” from a Madhouse was inspired by one such stay.

Even Joseph Brodsky experienced a psychiatric hospital in Leningrad, which he later described as “not unpleasant,” though he felt no desire to return, claiming he had “gained all the new experiences he could.”

Madness and melancholy have long intertwined with Russian creativity. Today, the difference is that seeking such refuge is voluntary and accompanied by better amenities.

Is “durking” problematic? Perhaps. But it also highlights a deeply human impulse: the wish to step away from the chaos of life, even if only by pretending to be unwell.

In an era of constant connection, silence has become a rare commodity. Whereas grandparents queued for trade-union sanatorium vouchers, today’s youth line up for psychiatric clinics. The goal remains the same: rest, recovery, and a moment of peace.

Every generation navigates life’s pressures in its own way. For contemporary young Russians, therapy has become that path.

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