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. 

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.

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