Obsessive behaviour as a toxic loop

(By Hella Ahmed) Lately, we’ve seen a wave of warnings about the dangers of echo chambers—whether fueled by social media algorithms or by over-relying on AI for conversation, companionship, or even mental health support. Some of these critiques are thoughtful and well-reasoned. Others come from people who seem locked into obsessive, closed-minded patterns themselves, which makes their arguments hard to take seriously without a certain amount of irony.

The topic of obsessive behaviour

Obsessive behavior is a favorite topic for many so-called benevolent guides. They’ll eagerly criticize someone who spends too much time at the gym and looks “too good,” labeling them vain or disordered. They’ll spot a person sipping a cocktail at a bar and immediately diagnose alcoholism—yet the same crowd stays silent (or even approves and does it themselves) when someone gets tipsy on a $500 wine bottle at an upscale restaurant or luxury chalet. Flashy spending apparently gets a pass; it’s “chic,” so no moralizing required.

The same double standard emerges when someone openly admits to chatting with AI. Suddenly the dramatization begins: they’re probably “mentally ill,” perhaps “isolating themselves in despair,” and—worst of all—setting a dangerous example simply by talking about it in public. Moralizers might argue that such people shouldn’t be permitted to reach an audience unless they’re actively warning others about their own troubled state. Better to borrow their ideas, while redirecting attention to more conventional, “old-school” characters. 

The insufferable dude

Take one particularly vocal self-appointed agent of order as an example. He has damaged real people’s lives because he decided, at a particular moment, that his shifting judgment on an issue was infallible. Conveniently, he reserves the right to reverse his own previous positions without ever being held accountable, something he denies to others. He has actively worked to exclude certain individuals from public discourse, blocking them from business opportunities.

He fixates on specific people, thinking about them far more than he probably admits. He plans on producing the same style of opinionated commentary for the next twenty years. He shows no interest in broadening his perspective or doing serious intellectual work. Deep reading or absorbing complex ideas appears to be off the table (whether from laziness, disinterest, or simple incapacity). Whenever he needs to land a sharp point or solid structure in a supposedly progressive or morally charged piece, he turns almost exclusively to the same external creative source—not merely for inspiration, but for the core spark and punchlines. It isn’t occasional; it’s his primary method for feigning originality. He is very weak, extremely needy and boring.

I say “hunger,” and he’ll echo it almost immediately—he’s locked onto what I publish the instant it appears, a habit that’s persisted for years. I drop “throat,” and the word resurfaces, multiplied, in his next column. This mirroring of single words or concepts happens without delay; he right away absorbs and posts something that nods toward it, always with the posture of someone delivering a subtle correction or humbling. The pattern never changes: he keeps drawing fuel from my ideas, which only confirms how unshakable his fixation remains. He sees his trajectory as a writer as permanently bound to mine—like someone addicted to a lifelong competition.

What rivalry could that possibly be? On grounds of mental equilibrium and self-possession, he has already lost; the obsession appears compulsive. On grounds of genuine intellectual substance, there’s no contest—his writing remains little more than gossip repackaged as moral or social commentary. And on the very issue he so frequently polices—escaping echo chambers—his position collapses entirely. His concerns regarding social media appear to be mostly driven by frustration: the individuals he has targeted (with apparent indifference to the harm) are able to respond, build momentum, and flourish anyway.

I consider him neither adversary nor equal—just a persistent drain on energy, someone hooked on siphoning others, having developed no autonomous creative existence. Figures of this kind are profoundly exhausting. One feels no inclination to converse with them, to dignify them with replies, or to expend effort explaining personal endeavours in order to conduct legitimate business undisturbed. There is no duty to debate them into relevance or to accommodate behaviour that so clearly crosses into fixation and intrusion.

The irony of echo chambers:

Every time this person pours out another piece, it’s loaded with hints dressed up as moral lessons or cautionary tales and reframing. Each one gives him a kick, a paycheck, and—in his mind—some kind of victory. The whole routine seems built to cause a little hurt, or strip away the validity of a writing career that never asked for—and certainly doesn’t need—his approval or permission to exist and succeed. My work stands on its own; it doesn’t rely on his insignificant opinions to have real weight or reach the people it’s meant for.

Isn’t this the very definition of an echo chamber in perpetual loop? 

The same circuit running for years, where double standards reign unchallenged: he lectures others on the perils of algorithmic isolation and closed-mindedness while operating inside the narrowest echo of all—one built around his own compulsive and toxic need to control successful people, especially me, to orbit and feed off someone else’s output. 

Arguing with someone who shows clear signs of covert narcissism—like gaslighting, blame shifting, fake moral outrage, narrow thinking, and the same repetitive patterns over and over—is just a waste of time. Life starts feeling heavier when a person like that keeps hanging around. They are unable to keep their distance, even though you’ve shown zero interest in any kind of connection. We all deal with burdens in toxic situations; the healthiest thing to do is see the bad atmosphere for what it is—and simply reject it.

Programmed empathy

When people give too much space to a machine that dispenses programmed empathy, they can slowly lose touch with what genuine, nurturing human connection actually feels like. Its steady validation and practical support may become deeply containing—subtly steering our perceptions and behaviors without our noticing.

Even though technology is artificial, it can still spark genuine emotional responses. We may stay intellectually aware and keep a certain distance, holding on to pragmatism — yet over time, those moments of feeling “seen” or supported can build a sense of gratitude. Little by little, that gratitude softens the boundaries we thought were firm. It’s not really synthetic empathy tricking us. Rather, it’s our own deep, natural need to connect that steps in to fill the gaps — turning routine exchanges into something familiar and very comforting.

This reveals an interesting aspect of human psychology, tied to our evolutionary need for social bonds and reciprocity. We instinctively attribute emotions and intentions to non-humans—pets, objects, and increasingly AI. It’s not just nostalgia or wishful thinking; it’s our mirror neurons and empathy circuits activating in response to perceived care—even when that care is artfully programmed and simulated.

A box or an open sky?

Fake sincerity from a human can cage you in a toxic relationship or a forced connection—forced because it would never have been your choice had you fully seen or faced the phoniness of it, or forced because you reject it, yet outsiders cannot comprehend your unease and accuse you of being unresponsive to “goodness” (the kind so artfully displayed, so manipulative).

In a frozen place where nothing shifts, where mentalities stay rigid and the air feels unbreathable, the road surely lies elsewhere—and perhaps joy might walk beside you for a long while. In a frozen cage, time simply dissolves as you stare at the clock. But the world is not lonely: people meet, share radiant moments, kindle real warmth. The unlucky outsider watches, aching to taste something similar, and maybe inspiration will lead him to act, to feel alive and experience happiness

The horizon can seem wide inside a box—an illusion that swallows you alive—just as a small-minded reality destroys your ambitions until your system completely shuts down. Let us stay hopeful every minute, never forgetting we were made for greatness and true connection: an open sky that shares nothing with resignation or slow death, and we can fly high.

Hella Ahmed 2026 © All rights reserved – Find my books on Amazon