My Own Brain is Being Weaponised Against Me

But I think I know the solution.

I’m finding it hard to write about anything right now. Some subjects are too big, too complex, too fraught with anxiety to touch. Others feel frivolous when so much big stuff is happening. And to write or to talk about yourself when the world is burning, genocides are being perpetuated and we’re living through Missile Crises Mark II, feels beyond self-indulgent.

I am in a battle with my own will. Two opposing forces rage inside my head—one screaming to shut down and stop communicating—the other desperate to break through the silo walls and connect with just one other human.

The Silence usually wins, pinning me down and cramming my mouth with mud. Sometimes, I muster enough strength to drag myself and the chains of silence to the surface, just long enough to get something out into the world. But then Silence doubles down on his attacks. He’s vicious. He savages me like a rampaging XL Bully; latches his overgrown jaw around my head shakes me back and forth until I am whiplashed back into silence. 

“See? No one responded. You’re talking shit.”

“No one likes you. They never have. Just give up already.”

“You’re fucking weird. They’re all laughing at you.”

I know, I know. We all have these voices. No one speaks to us as violently as we speak to ourselves. No one really cares about what I do or don’t say. No one is waiting for me to post, desperate to tear me apart. Everyone is far too busy worrying about what people think of them to worry about me. I’m not that important.

But, these voices don’t come from nowhere. Every one of them has a root in a real-world conversation or experience. The school bullies. The parents, teachers and employers who all saw something malleable in me that could be manipulated and moulded by their words. 

No one’s interested in your misery. You’re a negative influence.

Were their words designed to harm? Probably not. More likely, they were delivered in flippant frustration or hurry. (Not the bullies, obviously.) But the seeds were sown deep. They formed untraceable mycelium roots spreading wide beneath the surface, only occasionally erupting in visible fruiting bodies that bore spores and spread.

“You use too many metaphors. Just be clear, already!”

These are old stories. They are some of the building blocks of my identity. Even 40-something years later, they’re still there.

I know I’m not alone. We all need positive feedback. This doesn’t make us narcissistic. It makes us human. We all need to belong. We all need a tribe that will justify our right to exist and give us a social identity. But the social consequences of getting it wrong are so much worse than they used to be. If we speak or write the wrong words we risk being ostracised, not just by our own tribe, but by the entire planet. Online mob justice spreads fast and wide. 

“If you say this out loud you might be noticed. Is that REALLY what you want?”

In this increasingly polarised world, there’s no room for nuance. Those voices are being silenced. If you’re someone who generally treads the middle line and genuinely tries to see things from different perspectives, you could be excommunicated by both extremes. Previously passive and rational people are being radicalised and driven deeper into their siloes by overly simplistic, soundbite messaging and deliberate misinformation.

If you’re wondering if everyone really is angry all the time, it’s not your imagination. The system is designed to provoke us. Social media thrive on outrage because outrage keeps eyeballs on screens and ad revenue flowing. A 2019 internal Facebook report found that their own algorithm drove increasingly divisive content to users to “gain user attention and increase time on the platform”.  Another study from the same year found that 20 per cent of Democrats and 16 per cent of Republicans thought that the USA would be better off if large numbers of the opposition “just died”. 

I mean—what the actual fuck? Just died?!

However rational we think we are, we all seek information that confirms our existing stories. We’re designed to seek simple solutions. We “thin-slice” information, cutting through complexity to find an easy conclusion. Thinking is hard. It burns calories. It’s why confirmation bias is a thing. 

Humankind cannot bear very much complexity.

Every generation thinks that the world is worse now than it was 20 years ago. Even so, right now, we are more divided than we’ve ever been. Algorithms drive engagement by driving drama and hate. Because we all love drama. Yeah, you too. It’s biological.

It’s not just algorithms at work. Once “respectable” news outlets are now filled with non-news articles dredged from the most confrontational Twitter/X commentaries. Yes, the algorithms are responsible for feeding us more of this toxic bilge once we show an interest, but these articles aren’t written by algorithms. They’re written by people.

I click on this stuff far more often than I want to admit, and my news app is filled with it. I’m not clicking because I care what @Xuser123 thinks about Naga Munchetty’s interview style with Geri Halliwell or because I think Amanda Abingdon’s decision to leave Strictly is anyone’s business but her own. I click on it because I can’t believe this shite passes for news. It’s a kind of fascinated horror that makes me click. But I still click. And so more of the same shit fills my feed and my brain.

I could pretend that because I’m aware of how this stuff works and how it’s affecting me I actively disengage from it. But honestly? I don’t have that willpower.

I am addicted to this crap. Consumed by it. It’s making me ill. It’s feeding the most angry and violent voices in my own internal algorithm. The more I read, the more it colours my view of the world. I can’t focus. I can’t maintain the thread of a coherent idea. It’s taken me days to write this and I’m still not sure it makes coherent sense. I feel my capacity for rational thought being eroded and I don’t know if I have the strength to resist. It’s easier to just wallow in the mire. 

“This is too complicated for you to understand. Don’t say anything. You’ll get it wrong.” 

But I do understand how this stuff works. I know how the tools of storytelling; the rise and fall of drama, the spiking of our cortisol levels, the appeals to our empathy and our fear, the offer of simple answers; are being weaponised and turned against us. I’ve written half a book proposal on it. I still hope, one day, to write that book. If what remains of my brain hasn’t been turned to mush first.

And I DO want to speak. I want to build the connections that will support me when doubt and silence threaten to overwhelm me. I want to be that connection for you when you’re in a similar space. I want to explore how telling our stories can dismantle barriers, build connections, and overcome seemingly intractable differences. To show how sharing our joy and our pain can be a route to more connection and less conflict.

I want to reclaim the tools of storytelling. To create and share a form of narrative literacy that helps people understand how these tools are being used against them, and how they can reclaim them for good. For kindness. For breaking down walls instead of building them. It’s time for a goddam storytelling revolution.

It may feel like a Sisyphean task right now. But if I never even try, I really am fucked.

Are you with me?

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

— Martin Luther King, Jr.

Has the constant bombardment of information affected your mental landscape? 

How do you navigate the struggle between the desire to communicate and the fear of silence or criticism?

How can we reclaim the tools of storytelling for kindness and connection?