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The Edge of Despair: Drowning in the Noise of Now

There’s a quiet ache I feel some mornings before my feet touch the floor.  Still, I feel the imperative to get out of bed, fumble with the few pills I’m supposed to take each day and try to move forward. 

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I turn on the aging coffee maker, and while waiting for the supposedly robust brew I found on sale last week to drip through, I open one of my smart devices.  I check the weather, scan my daily commitments, read summaries of the various mailing list newsletters and punch through a mini-crossword or two. I end up cycling through the array of devices: phone, tablet, and computer.  I do it all to stay informed – because we’re told good citizens must.

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Instead of finding satisfaction in reading, as I do in a well-brewed cup of coffee, I find myself gasping in a sea of urgency.

Each post, each article, each newsletter, and each email offers no solution, just more evidence that the world is unraveling faster than we can stitch it back together.

The cascade of despair starts with a headline: “Conflict escalates in…”
Then another: “Record temperatures sweep through…”
Then: “A new study warns of…”

Followed up with: “Guess what he said now…”

The details change daily, almost hourly, but the weight doesn’t.

Somewhere along the way, being informed stopped empowering me. It started unraveling me.

It becomes a slippery slope.  As much as I want to stop and find some joy somewhere, I keep reading.

There’s a term for it: doomscrolling. But I think it’s bigger than that. It’s not just scrolling—it’s absorbing. Taking on pain that isn’t ours to fix, but feels wrong to ignore.

📚 The Psychology of Overload

Studies show that exposure to a constant stream of negative news can lead to increased anxiety, sleep disruption, and even physical symptoms. And yet, stepping away from it can feel like turning your back on those who are suffering.

That’s the trap: informed or indifferent. There’s no middle lane offered.

💔 The Emotional Toll

I’ve noticed subtle changes in myself. A shorter fuse. A general sense of futility. The bitter irony is that in an effort to stay connected to the world, I’ve never felt more disconnected from myself.

And for someone who’s already walked through significant illness and recovery, my nervous system was already recalibrated to “survival mode.” This new layer of chaos feels like a regression, a trigger, a cruel trick played by an ever-refreshing news cycle.

🔦 Searching for Light

How do I work through this like I did with the cancer and the stroke.  Those challenges seemed to be finite.  They weren’t. I did find points where I could close it down.  Can I close down the input from an imperfect media reporting on an imperfect world?  

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But maybe the answer isn’t total retreat—it’s curation. It’s not ignorance to limit the intake of pain; it’s self-preservation.


cu·ra·tion /kyo͝oˈrāSHən/ noun

  1. the action or process of selecting, organizing, and looking after the items in a collection or exhibition

So now, I give myself permission to:


I’m not going to be much good to anybody if I can’t functionally process the information I’m presented with.

And when that edge of despair looms again, I remind myself: if the world truly needs healing, it can’t come from a burnt-out, numbed-out heart. It starts with people who still know how to feel… and how to hope.

🧠 “Studies show that exposure to a constant stream of negative news can lead to increased anxiety, sleep disruption, and even physical symptoms.”

💡 “That’s the trap: informed or indifferent. There’s no middle lane offered.”

🔄 “It’s not ignorance to limit the intake of pain; it’s self-preservation.”

📖 Further Reading


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