Doomscrolling Should Be Considered a Mental Disorder: Lessons from Uganda’s 2026 Elections

In the lead-up to and aftermath of Uganda’s January 15, 2026, general elections, social media platforms like X (formerly Twitter), Facebook, TikTok, and others turned into battlegrounds of intense negativity. Phrases such as “Protect the gains,” “Uganda is Bleeding,” “New Uganda,” and dire warnings of impending collapse dominated feeds. Videos showed opposition leaders like Robert Kyagulanyi (Bobi Wine) confronting police, claims of uncontrollable bloodshed, election malpractices, and predictions that the country stood on the brink unless specific leaders took power. Allegedly paid activists, bots, and fervent supporters from both opposition and ruling party sides amplified these narratives, pushing endless streams of alarming content. Scrolling through it all became addictive; each refresh delivered more outrage, fear, or confirmation of bias leaving many Ugandans angry, exhausted, and emotionally drained.

If you found yourself wrapped up in this cycle, reacting impulsively with heated comments, staying up late to “stay informed,” or feeling constant tension regardless of your political side, you were likely doomscrolling. This behavior, far from harmless, exhibits the traits of a compulsive disorder and should be recognized as a form of mental illness.

Doomscrolling is the compulsive habit of endlessly scrolling through feeds saturated with crises, disasters, political outrage, violence, and apocalyptic predictions. What starts as a genuine effort to follow important events spirals into hours of consumption that heightens anxiety, hopelessness, and fatigue. In Uganda’s recent electoral context, the algorithmic push toward emotionally charged content like videos of confrontations, inflammatory claims, and polarized debates made it especially potent. Platforms reward high-engagement negativity, so feeds flooded with stories of “bloodshed,” rigged processes, or national collapse kept users hooked.

The compulsion is evident in the loss of control many experience. People know the content is harmful yet promise themselves “just one more post” before continuing far longer. This mirrors addiction patterns: each alarming update triggers a dopamine hit from novelty or perceived threat awareness, an ancient survival instinct distorted by infinite digital feeds. Tolerance develops quickly, more extreme content is needed for the same “informed” feeling while stopping brings restlessness or fear of missing critical updates.

Psychological research from recent years, including studies in journals like Computers in Human Behavior, links doomscrolling to serious mental health impacts stating that “Media and media content overload can serve as a conduit for mental health problems, such as anxiety and depression”. “The media facilitates accessibility to specific thoughts and triggers relevant reactions. For example, exposure to violent media has been shown to implant aggressive thoughts and increase antagonism”.

It heightens psychological distress through poor emotional regulation and problematic social media use. In adults and youth alike, prolonged exposure predicts rises in anxiety, depression, chronic stress, and existential despair; feelings of meaninglessness, deep distrust in others (including fellow citizens), and a bleak worldview. During Uganda’s election period, this manifested as constant anger, sleep disruption from late-night scrolling, elevated cortisol levels, and physical effects like fatigue or high blood pressure. For those with preexisting vulnerabilities, the habit created vicious cycles: negative posts reinforced biased perceptions, fueling more scrolling and deeper emotional lows.

Experts increasingly frame doomscrolling in addiction-like terms, driven by platform designs such as infinite scrolling, notifications, and algorithms that amplify outrage for engagement. It shares mechanisms with conditions like the compulsive Internet Gaming Disorder (IGD-11) noted in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5) and broader problematic social media use. While not yet a standalone diagnosis in manuals like the DSM-5 or ICD-11, severity scales now quantify it as a rigid, harmful behavioral cluster. In politically charged environments like Uganda’s 2026 polls marked by internet blackouts, arrests of unruly opposition radicals, and polarized discourse; the risks intensify, turning information-seeking into a self-perpetuating source of suffering.

The argument for classifying it as mental illness is clear: when a behavior is compulsive, dopamine-driven, resistant to simple willpower, and consistently linked to psychiatric worsening including exacerbated depression, generalized anxiety, insomnia, reduced life satisfaction, and even physical health decline, it enters pathological territory. Dismissing it as “just keeping up with politics” ignores the toll on millions, especially in high-stakes contexts where social media becomes the primary source of news amid restrictions.

Formal recognition would enable better responses. Mental health professionals could screen for doomscrolling in clients showing anxiety, low mood, or sleep issues, using cognitive-behavioral techniques to break reward loops, build uncertainty tolerance, and foster healthier habits. Public campaigns in Uganda and beyond could highlight it alongside other compulsions, urging balanced consumption. Platforms might add tools like scroll limits or negativity filters which is very highly unlikely, though history shows governments sometimes restrict access instead. Individually, enforce device curfews, designate no-news periods, curate positive or neutral follows, and practice mindfulness to sit with uncertainty rather than chase endless updates.

Doomscrolling during Uganda’s 2026 elections was not mere curiosity, it was a digital trap eroding mental well-being amid real political tensions. Viewing it as a form of mental illness is not alarmist; it is a vital acknowledgment that helps us reclaim agency in an era engineered to keep us scrolling through the shadows. By naming the problem, we take the first step toward healthier engagement with our shared reality.