My Mental Gearbox is stuck in first

This came on last night.  Or last night was when the depression tipped over from the mental equivalent of “loitering with intent” into “smothering everything”.

As always, it kind of creeps up.  Slowly and painstakingly unhitching your mind from the ability to do the things that you actually want to do – the things that you enjoy.

I want to read articles on Substack and Reddit and make comments.  I want to look at what friends, acquaintances and the people I find interesting on Instagram are doing and post encouragement and support.

But I literally can’t.

Summoning up the coherence of thought to even write this is a struggle, but this is literally the most my disordered mind is allowing me to do at the moment.  I’m trying to force my brain to do things it doesn’t want to do in the hope that I can effectively jump start it.

Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t.  Putting on some music I love doesn’t work.  Trying to read something doesn’t work.  All I really want to do is sit and vegetate.  Stare at the screen and doomscroll.  Worse, when “doomscrolling”, I’m not even paying attention to what I’m scrolling past since literally nothing is interesting me when I’m like this.  I also find my vocabulary becomes stunted.  It’s like driving in first gear.  No matter how many revs you try to put in, nothing will make the wheels turn faster, and the other gears are all locked off.

My mental gearbox is broken.  It’s stuck in first.

I’m sat here with a big, comfortable hoodie on.  Luckily I’m not feeling so down the hood is up.

Disjointed thoughts are really all I can manage at the moment.  Doesn’t really help when the world appears to be just getting worse.  The Guardian has joined in on the whole “ADHD doesn’t exist” crusade that some cockwomble (who is a Daily Heil columnist) who got himself a documentary on Channel 4 is leading.  So first they came after the transgender, now they’re coming after the neurodivergents.  The founders of that paper must be spinning in their graves.  This is what happens when you let in posh Londoners to write for you.  The likes of Lucy Mangan need to be fired.  Why is a TV critic allowed to make comments on settled science?

Oh… and apparently Dee Snider has apologized for saying something that was pretty much common knowledge – Ozzy wasn’t really a lyricist (his thing was the vocal line melodies), and it tended to be bass players like Geezer Butler, Lemmy and Bob Daisley who wrote most of the words he sang.  Kelly Osbourne, in a desperate attempt to stay in the public eye by propping herself up with her poor old dad’s corpse, kicked up a stink.  Just like her mother.