Jul 26

 Yesterday was hard. And it didn't relent. All day the exhaustion was upon me. And a mild touch of brain fog. Concrete in the front of my brain. A weird headachey soup that is not a headache. That slows everything down. Everything suddenly has a notable start cost that is difficult to wade through. And then has a maintenance cost. Like swimming with concrete shoes. I use the word concrete, because it kinda feels like that, the frontal lobe, feels dense, immobile, heavy. That bit of your brain is the modern bit. With all the fancy thinking. What people would identify as "them", but really, is the obvious chatty, abstract thinking, frontman. Perhaps then it is no surprise that when it feels to me like it is full of concrete, everything associated with that bit of the brain slows down. Becomes a serious effort to initiate.

I reached out to a friend late yesterday. Just. A ping. To see what they were up to. Really. Just to get them to talk even if a little. To move me from me. To someone else.

Distracting signals.

But also. Of course. My internal predictive models and simulations of people. I knew what they were up to. I could feel what they were doing. I was interested. But also check. Like a poor mans psychic ability. This is one function of what our brains are designed to do. Abstract. Think about the thing around the corner you cannot see. Picture the tiger waiting in the shadows. And avoid it. Don't get eaten. Evolutionary win. Genetic promotion for *prediction skills*. To a point. Balanced by how far out the prediction runs. And. Caloric cost. Like running an LLM, fancy brain functions are expensive. High compute. Albeit natures sublime or rather ruthless design iterations, survive or die, has made that process infinitely more efficient than our own sledgehammer like inelegance of using a warehouse attached to a power station to generate a conversation. But like all things computer, that will refine. The first accounting computer in Norwich - first of its kind - took up an entire room 70 years ago. Nowadays. All of that and more is done on something the size of a fingernail. LLMs will not always require a warehouse to run. And it will not take 70 years for them to get there.

Anyway.

My friend was doing what I thought he was doing. We talked a little. Played a game.

There was something he said the other day that I have turned over in my head. An example of the Not Great behaviour of his father. Unforgiving. Scorched earth. Over dramatic response. His father is not a million miles away from mine. Different for sure. Different failure points. But there are similarities too. Inability to cope with things turned to anger. Inability to process emotions other than anger. In my humble opinion his dad has some psych issues. So many people do. Lashing out. Picking fights. Scoring points by belittling. Inability to apologise. To adapt. Seeking turmoil. To me. It's a one note song. Insecurity, insecurity, insecurity. Fear. Right at the bottom. Fear. Layered over with a smokescreen of anger. Outrage. Pre-emptive strikes. All to cover the fear. It's harder for someones fear to show in an obvious way when they are throwing punches. Lose yourself in the conflict. Rather than deal with the fear. It is a coping mechanism. An awful one. But an all too common one.

Anyway. Digressing again. His old man has issues. That of course have had consequences on the *shape* of the kids. 

But. There are still points of contact between my friend and his father. Fishing. Which ended. Because of that personality instability. But for a brief moment. It was good. They shared a moment. Shared an experience.

And it's that I have been reflecting on.

What makes us different.

I have no such shared experiences with my father. None. Zero. Zip.

He has no interest in spending time with me - never did. It is, you can immediately see, just another expression of his never asking about anyone else. He never asks how you are doing. What you are doing. Anything. *Ever*. A conversation with him is a weird one sided affair. You feel it over time. This weird focus. On himself. And nothing else.

But I have been thinking about this. Tracking backwards. Looking for those shared moments. When did he sit with me and teach me something. When did he do something for me, together. When was he interested in what I was experiencing.

Nothing. Zero.

*Everything* has revolved around him. He would do something. For his benefit. If at times that just so happened to include me. Fine. Not good. Not awesome. Just. Ok. A bystander.

I now realise I accepted that as *normal*. This is what you do. You live in someone elses orbit. Everything is about them. Nothing is about you. You. Are nothing. You are the audience for them.

And I think about my mom. The same thing crops up. Everything is about them. Not me.

Perhaps this is normal ?

But then I think about myself. And others. Doing things for others benefit. Getting a happiness from someone elses happiness. My dogs were this to a tee. Where I would live vicariously through them. I have said it many many times. You get sucked into their world. Yes. That *IS* a great stick. You're right. Yes. This is the greatest thing ever found. And. Genuinely feel it. It IS the greatest thing ever found. Just like yesterday was the greatest ever thing found. There is. A beautiful innocent joy to it. Where every day is amazing. And I have always done things that benefit others. And ask them about it. And help them do it. Encourage. Support. And enjoy their enjoyment.

I am not alone in this. I see people frequently do it for their kids. Good job buddy ! Shall we go here ? Shall we play this together ?

I had none of that.

I think perhaps, of all the things. This is a major subtle theme. It is a strong sign of the direction of support.

Do I get fed ? Sure. Do I get a roof over my head ? Sure. Do I get emotionally supported ? Ha ha. No. Do I get encouraged ? No. Do I get threatened ? Yes. Are any of my opinions or concerns or anything taken into account ? Almost never. Am I expected to participate in their things ? Yes.

And that's also the pattern with my siblings. They had the same. Hence I think. My sister agreeing with the fact we were an inconvenience. Something to be endured. Got through. Put up with. None of us were encouraged or supported or nurtured. Not even slightly. 

I think it is that that has made all of us stand on our own two feet. Always end up in positions - inadvertently - where we take on board responsibility. We run the clubs. The workplace. Often without title. Without fanfare. We organise the thing. We step in where everyone else flails. My brothers track record with this is hilariously predictable. But he is not alone. And yet. In the quiet. Of a few years ago. He lamented the cost. Fed up of always doing everything. Tired of it.

Compulsion. Conditioning. Doing the thing regardless of the cost. Only realising after. Why am I tired. I hate being tired.

I think in me. You can start to see my shape. My psych. The thing that has massively skewed me to give and not receive. To have no self worth. But understand the worth of others. The damaging self destructive aspects of this. Baked in by neglectful uncaring parents. Busy scoring points for themselves. Using their kids as resources. Buffers. Emotional regulators to absorb frustration and anger.

I am not speaking much. To anyone. Here and there. Mostly by force. Rarely by choice. "Force". The force of societal conditioning. Saying hello to a hello. But even then. I am breaking that contract more and more. Silence. Instead of a hello back. Lost to the depths. Losing the ability to even wave back. Isolating.

My communication with my brother has dropped to perhaps once a quarter. If that. Last time I spoke to him, he mentioned in passing how the old man was picking at his remote controls. Picking the buttons off.

ADHD fidgeting hands. To me. This makes perfect sense. My old man is *weird*. Not just fucked up. But also weird. Or perhaps. More accurately. All those things blended together. In modern terms we would call him neurodivergent. Masked. In old school terms. He is fine. Beneath his mask. A little... different... a little... exceptional at times. But to me. Fidgeting hands. Uh huh. No brainer.

I told my brother that he could look at getting fidget toy for him instead. Another classic route of redirection. Dont destroy the remote. Fidget with a fidgety thing. My old man would never go for something new age. Bands. Tactile plushies. "Gay". Sigh. But something tool like. Mechanical...

I knew my brother wouldn't do anything with it. Not a criticism. Just. That predictive model.

The other day I came across at random mechanical fidget toys. Perfect. I bought them for the old man. Maybe he would get on with them - if he could overcome his default sneering cynicism. Maybe not.

But then.

I have had this slow cascade of thought. About neglect. About how everything was always about him. Never about anyone else. About how much quiet damage that ended up doing to me. Not obvious. But so far reaching. 

And you get to a point of, perhaps uncharitable.

Why should I give him a fidget toy.

Why should I do this for him.

He doesn't care.

And so. I am paused. It is going to take me considerable effort to get him the fidget toy. Like pitching an offering into a black hole. What am I doing.

I know what I am doing to be clear. I am being. Thoughtful. Kind. Caring.

Of someone that by any measure does not deserve it. But then. To me. It's not too much about what people deserve. Because one thing is somewhat divorced from the other. Or should be. Someones kindness should not be corrupted by someone elses unkindness. Because in that situation. All the kindness corrupts to unkind. And the world turns mean.

We are not short of that lesson.

Be kind. Regardless of what anyone else does. Don't let their shit turn into your shit. Lest everything become shit.

That being said.

I think in practice there are limits. Not instant cut off, one and done you're dead limits. But if something is continually unresponsive. Unreachable. And most importantly. Damaging. You have to ask yourself if the cost is worth it.

This.

Is what the shrink is on about. They didn't mean it in my example. Of a fidget toy. But in general.

Be. Just that little protective of yourself.

The difficult bit is finding the line. Between too much and too little. Too little and the world turns to shit. Too much. And you end up burning all your energy into a damaging void of negativity.

I still maintain however. There is a benefit to that. But. Tricky.

In any case.

Practical terms. Very personal. The old man. And fidget toys.

I am not sure I have the energy to give them to him. Or the desire.

For the moment. They sit with me.

Brutally. Awfully. At this point. I'd rather not think about him at all. Which is a terrible thing to say. But. Truly. He has been a non event in my life for a very long time. Not because of me. Because of *him*. I am not alone in that. This is his pattern with *everyone*. His brothers in the UK, living just down the road to him. Died. Without him acknowledging. Without him attending. No word. No reaction. This is him. All over. And always has been.