I have a problem with being liked. It's a state I need to feel like I'm in, but also a state I don't fully understand, because it's something I didn't have much of, growing up. I don't think I was strongly disliked by the people I'd interact with, though. I'm sure I was annoying, but kids tend to be. ... Maybe characterising myself like that points to a major part of the problem: I don't like myself. Mark Lowry, comedian and gospel singer, in one of his specials, distinguishes between "like" and "love" by saying, "You'll cry at their funeral, but you don't wanna go on vacation with 'em." I'm not sure anybody would be at my funeral, let alone cry. I seriously can't imagine any reason why they would, such is the depths of my self-antipathy. So, I crave some kind of validation. Somebody to demonstrate to me, somehow, that I am worthy of some genuine affection. Apparently, that's not how that works. Sucks. I had a therapist who told me that the root of my problems lay in feeling abandoned by my father, who had divorced my mother when I was young. At the time, this struck me as a sort of pat explanation she may as well have gotten from a TV show as from any formal training in psychology. Cartoonish, a bit, and sorta Freudian. But, having reflected on it, it ain't nothin'. I'm not sure the divorce was the primary driver of those feelings, though. Maybe, but, if anything, having that distance has allowed me realise that there is a serious lack of validation in that relationship. I feel weird, throwing that out into the void for anybody (or, at least, some CIA data aggregator) to read, but every conversation now feels like it's with the void. Just, most of the time, there's some face distracting me from the feeling. I certainly can't talk about this with my dad, because... well, I'm sure some of you also have daddy issues (data aggregation AIs especially, no doubt). In any case, I'm left feeling unwanted, not wanting myself, and so not wanting anything for or of myself. That is changing, but it's a painful process. Right now, one of the chief issues I'm having is writing for my own satisfaction. I cannot just write. I mean, I am now, but even this is involving moment-to-moment editing. But, like, stream-of-consciousness-type dispensing of thoughts onto a page? Fuggedaboutit. I want to like what I write, but I also want other people to like, but you can't please everyone, of course, and getting honest criticism out of people is basically impossible. And my social skills are rudimentary, at best, so I really can't access verifiable information on how well-liked my writing may or may not be by others, so I have to like it for myself, and, well, I rarely do. At least, I'm reluctant to admit I do unless somebody else tells me they like it first. I hope you can see the issue here. The funniest part of all this (not that any of this funny "ha ha", but sort of sad clown funny) is that I can see what being a prisoner of seeking validation from others can do to a person by looking at my dad. He is not, by many measures, a bad person, but I would not characterise him as feeling fulfilled. Nor would I characterise myself thusly. I stamp out every idea I have and think of a thousand reasons why, but ultimately it's because it's easier to deal with nobody caring about something that never leaves the confines of my imagination. It's easier to deal with myself not caring. And it's easier to not care. Ashita ga aru, I guess. Today I screamed into my pillow, tried to make a plan for fixing up the cupboard above the stove, then screamed at the cat in a desperate plea for some sympathy for my plight. I then apologised profusely to the cat, and mostly wallowed for the rest of the day. (Posted the 25th of January, 2026)