Disordered thinking - a clinical diagnosis ?

Originally posted to my Facebook on July 11, 2026

Disordered thinking isn't limited to a clinically diagnosed mental illness. That statement may seem obvious.

Many people may relate to not thinking clearly during the flu or another viral illness, because the body is using resources to recover. The same might happen after a bad sunburn (here in AZ), from sunstroke, or heat exhaustion.

I know if I stay up too late and am tired the next day, I can feel a bit muddled.

We also hear of people experiencing 'brain fog' during the period after a death in the family, a divorce, moving, or changing jobs.

Hopefully it doesn't rise to the level of being unable to function. I wonder though, for as much as we rely on spoken (and written) communication, day to day, what happens when disordered thoughts spill over into words? When does the person on the receiving end begin realizing it isn't just a slip of the tongue (or pen), but word salad?

There are cognitive tests and other psychological markers that professionals use to determine Alzheimer's disease and dementia. For people living with life-long cognitive impairment, signs of change can be a little more subtle for the family they live with.

What happens when the meltdown precedes the fever, rash, cough, and chills? And you are left wondering, for a few days at least, 'what brought this on?'.

Sometimes the only change in communication is the lack of words, and perhaps a heavier reliance on body language . . . if you are able to recognize the signs. I've long wondered: if there isn't an individual person who spends a consistent amount of quality time observing someone with a communication disorder, how will the unfamiliar people know what they are seeing?

We all need people in our life who see us often and regularly, to know us in those moments when words lose their meaning and we rely on their seeing our eyes and micro-expressions.

I was sitting at a potluck dinner once, when someone unfamiliar sat down at our table and began discussing the public (& private) life of a person I knew. The person next to me looked me directly in the eye, said my last name, and engaged me in conversation, distracting me from the specifics of whatever the newcomer was saying. To this day, I have no memory or knowledge of what I was said, or how I looked in that moment. I remember how I felt. And today, I sure am grateful my seatmate could read my face . . . or what they believed they saw there.

Some people turn red, others get a literal 'deer in the headlights' look, when they become psychologically paralyzed. Some people squint their eyes, ever so slightly when they are in physical pain. Others swallow repeatedly, tilt their head slightly, or direct their gaze a certain way when they simply need a moment to think before responding.

Humans are all so individual in how we communicate. Sometimes even professionals miss the non-verbal context of what is happening, despite years of training.

If you don't know a person, you may not see their 'tell' in time. However, sometimes we are able to shed light on what isn't being said (or unsaid), or facilitate a needed pause, giving a person time to collect their thoughts and correct their message. And in that moment, we can offer a friend the help they desperately want (or need), even if their ability to articulate it themselves in a way someone else will understands is temporarily absent.