And another reason to love Beyoncé
I am a veteran of clinical depression — which is probably obvious to you, given that I am a writer, but really, depression and I go way back. I’ve struggled with suicidal thoughts and crippling anxiety since I was 6. My dad has it, his mom had it, my aunt on the other side of my family also has it. Basically, I was genetically mapped to have depression, with the same certainty as I was genetically mapped to never make it past 5’3. I’ve experienced agoraphobia, had to remove my nose ring and birkenstocks in the psych intake room at Mt. Sinai. I manage it with weekly therapy, Lexapro, and an unnatural amount of running. Probably more than half of you reading this can, in some form, relate — it’s a struggle that is widely shared, though it never quite feels that way.
I think that depression is really interesting in the scope of Covid-19, and quarantine. Mental illness in our society is never really prioritized, so it’s incredibly unsurprising that it’s taken a backseat during a global pandemic. Relegated to Bernie Sanders’ debate comments, Facebook statuses, phone therapy sessions, and poems written at 2AM in your iPhone notes, mental illness is considered a private, separate privilege. It’s our cultural understanding that if you can afford to recognize and treat your mental illness, you can AFFORD it. You must not be overwhelmed by what my parents, and most people’s parents, call “real problems.”
In my case, this is more or less the truth. I’m a white, hetero, cisgender person from a middle-class background. I go to therapy and take medication, because I had a network that assisted me in accessing proper healthcare at a reasonable cost. Until very recently, I had an office job that allowed me to work remote and not expose myself to the disease. I possess all of the traits that make people think mental illness is for sissies.
Whenever I bring up how quarantine has affected my depression, people bring up the same reasons I should be grateful — healthcare and essential workers on the front lines, homeless people, people in an abusive domestic environment, people who actually HAVE Covid-19 — what about them? And to that, I raise the same question — what about them? And who is looking after their mental health?
I recently had a long FaceTime session with my friend, who is a nurse, and bravely volunteered to be redeployed to the Covid-19 ward at her hospital. She told me that her hospital has looked after her pretty well — cars to and from work, lunch provided every day. One of the Real Housewives whose husband received chemo there actually delivered BOXES OF VOSS WATER to the healthcare workers (this was my favorite detail ever, and hers too). My friend is proud to be doing life-saving work as a research nurse, studying this disease that the rest of us are actively hiding from. But meanwhile, she is afraid to leave her home or see others for fear of spreading the virus. She lives alone. Although she’s tough as nails, and dedicated to saving lives, what resources are we providing her, and other healthcare workers, to avoid burnout? When even finding proper PPE is a struggle, who is looking after healthcare workers and their mental health? We can send bottles of Voss, make masks, but none of that will help someone who doesn’t have time to seek out mental health resources.
Another worrisome issue is essential workers. MTA operators, grocery store employees, waste management employees, construction workers. People who did not sign up to be our guardians during an international crisis, and now are trapped in that role to maintain their livelihood. People who don’t even have access to PTO, maybe not insurance, and more than likely not a policy that covers mental healthcare — almost none do. What happens if they get physically ill, or suffer a mental break? Where is their relief, when both of those scenarios are likely? It’s also important to emphasize that communities of color, and communities facing more poverty, are disproportionately affected by both the physical and mental effects of the disease. Beyoncé is taking actions to help these communities — you can donate to the cause here.
Lastly, there’s the people who have friends or family with Covid-19, who have lost someone to the disease, or are sick themselves. My one friend has battled the coronavirus for 8 weeks, has been to the ER twice, and has felt no relief from being out of breath. When our health system doesn’t even have the capacity to help her breathe properly, how can she find the resources to help her through what is undoubtedly a terrifying, disturbing experience? People facing these incredibly visceral, physical problems are facing a huge mental challenge as well, and one that won’t go away overnight.
As a mentally ill person, I know that it is impossible to function when my depression goes untreated. I am unable to sleep, eat, work, and perform all of the tasks that enable me to continue life as usual. And a traumatic event, like Covid-19, is likely to push many people to the breaking point in a society that does not recognize this breaking point exists. And we aren’t going to reinvent our health system during a pandemic — so what CAN we do to help?
Check on each other. FaceTime your friends who are in these roles, rather than just texting-they need to see you! Put on your mask and gloves, and drop groceries at someone’s apartment when you know it’s a burden for them to go themselves. Donate money to local charities, but also to your friends who have lost their restaurant jobs and are struggling to receive unemployment checks. If there’s one thing I learned during my darkest times with depression, is that feeling alone comes with the territory — do your part to make people feel less alone. In a world where we can’t physically see each other, that requires more creativity and effort, but it’s more than worthwhile.
