When Dr. Fitzgerald (My new hero. The calming voice when everything seems so out of control.) announced today that there were 23 new cases, my heart sank. The four cases had made me hopeful the day before. I knew that we were in this life of isolation for the long haul, but a part of me hoped that being an island— we would see positive results sooner. As my heart sank into my toes, I heard her familiar calm and soothing voice follow up with reminding us that our mental health is important. She repeated numbers, she talked about the warm line, Bridge the Gapp, and the crisis line. I could have wept with gratefulness that she acknowledged the crisis some of us are in.
I’ve acknowledged for months that I am not doing well. 2020 treated me badly before the pandemic hit Newfoundland and Labrador. I received news on February 17th that shook me to the core, my brother got sick and gave me a pretty good scare on February 21st, and I also lost my best friend: my beloved cat passed away on February 27th. Even though she had been sick, it had been very unexpected. It destroyed me. I will not bore you with the details of the week proceeding Leonard’s death, but a huge shout out to Lynn, Ashley, Maggie, Michelle, Calvin, many others and my Twitter community that literally held me up and got me through it without killing myself. If there is one thing I can say without reservation— it’s that Twitter and my friends are beautiful souls and I don’t deserve them.
In the coming weeks, talk of the COVID-19 started to dominate. I was wrapped up in my grief. I was able to hold conversations, but for the most part I worked at hiding my grief when engaging in everyday conversations.
But lurking in the background— was waiting for COVID-19. It was like anticipating a wave to hit. As the days went by, it felt more ominous and I was scared of the tsunami. Knowing my mental state was fragile, I went to the grocery store early on and stocked up (I didn’t hoard toilet paper, promise!). I tried deliberately not to panic. I sanitized my hands, saw my friend Calvin, and tried not to think about it while adhering to the cautions they put in place. I tried to keep up with the advice while distancing myself away from the panic. Wrong move on my part.
Calvin and I spent most of the weekend of March 13th inside. We talked about social distancing and I constantly questioned him about if we were doing it right. I was confused but wanted to do the right thing. When he left early in the week, I started to realize things were bad. By Thursday, I arranged a place for my (medical professional) sister to stay with only a half hour to spare as she was ordered into self isolation because she came into contact with the virus. When I realized how close my parents had come into contacting it, I had a meltdown.
But in Maddox Cove, I stayed inside and tried to block it out. But by the time Friday rolled around, I realized I might be inside for a while. I planned to see two friends, knowing it was the last time I might see them for weeks, and as someone who deeply needs closure, I wanted to say goodbye to the “normal” chapter of my life to prepare to enter one I knew would be dark and long.
I never did see them. I was (rightly) called out on being a terrible idea, and I reacted badly. I took it out on someone and I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t understanding even though I’d asked people to be kind with each other because we are all struggling.
I was a hypocrite too. How could I call myself someone who cares about mental health when I wasn’t taking into account how most everybody’s mental health is deteriorating?
After I was called out for thinking it would be okay to have someone— even a close friend— over to the house, the realness of the situation sunk in.
This was it. This could go on for weeks. For months. And I would have to do it alone. I started to obsess with the news.
Everything was coming so fast that I didn’t know if it was grief, anxiety, depression or a strange version of hypo-mania (for undisclosed reasons.). My chest was so tight I spent two days struggling to breathe, I considered driving to the Waterford but didn’t trust myself to drive, and also knew I might come into contact with something—and what if I endangered others? I stayed put.
Days rolled by. Nightmares plagued me, the tightness in my chest got worse. I knew it wasn’t anything serious because in the brief moments of calm, I could breathe again.
But my brain had other ideas. I huddled in a ball. The urge to scream, the urge to end my life, and the urge to do strange and irrational things gripped me. I stayed in the ball and tried my best to fight it off. The headache of the mental war settled in and I spent hours trying to hold onto sanity. The weird out of body experience that happens only when I am at my sickest came back. Nothing felt rational. Weird things happened, and I won’t go into detail about them, because I am ashamed of how my brain goes in those moments, but the struggle to stay sane felt like a losing battle.
Every routine. Every comfort. Every normal interaction with humans. They were all gone.
But yet, I knew I had it easy.
“You’re SO privileged,” the voice would scream in my head. “You are SO selfish,” the voice continued. “How dare you focus on your mood cycles and your grief over a CAT?” It went on. “PEOPLE ARE DYING. YOU WERE CARELESS. WHAT IF YOU HAD SPREAD IT.” The voice hasn’t stopped.
I would try and focus on things to not feel sorry for myself. I have a job. My friends are amazing. On the first weekend of being inside— gifts were left at my door. Beautiful crafted mementos of my Leonard Love. Their acknowledgment of her meant the world. Once again love from people lifted me up enough to get through another hour. I told myself to be grateful and bounce back.
I wanted to help. I signed up to donate blood. I looked into volunteering at a food bank. Then worry that volunteering at a food bank was stupid because what if I gave it to someone?
“LEN IS GONE.” The thought would come screeching back. "YOU KILLED HER BEFORE WHAT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE GREATEST MONTH OF HER LIFE WITH YOU HOME ALL THE TIME.” Everywhere I looked, I saw her. I sat down to write thank you notes to my friends and would dissolve into tears— unable to write anything.
Back to the bed I would go. I would shake uncontrollably. I drank too much. I couldn’t keep track of my brain. I was sick of tracking it. I was crazy. It was stupid to have bipolar 2 right now. What did it matter when there is a global pandemic and so many people are experiencing anxiety for the first time?.
To talk about my stupid mental health for the 100th time right now would be taking away from the seriousness of the pandemic.
I am too privileged. People were risking their health every day and weren’t getting paid enough. Why hadn’t I fought harder for higher minimum wage?
I was selfish.
The guilt of almost having friends over and how I handled the fallout shuddered through me.
It’s a special kind of hell to want to end your life out of self loathing but feeling like you shouldn’t because to waste resources, possibly spread COVID-19, and to distract from anything other than people needing to stay inside. It’s a special kind of hell to hate yourself for being selfish but feeling like anything you do about it is even more damaging.
It rocked through my body. I cried. I was hysterical. I shook. The fear of making it through this pandemic alone wouldn’t leave.
When it came time to donate blood, my iron was too low. I’d signed up in order to help and in honour of my nephew— but also because I hoped it would help the guilt. On the same trip, I picked up Len’s ashes. They came out and handed me the bag through my car window and stood in the rain as I cried and thanked them.
The thought of Facetime broke my heart. I cried when I said good bye to a screen. I didn’t reply to texts, and I logged off Twitter because everything I’d said was unhelpful and awful. Anything I still want to say is unhelpful and awful.
And I missed Len. My best friend was gone. The one who saw through everything— who knew my deep flaws and mistakes— and loved me anyway. I sat beside her ashes on the floor and sobbed. Johnny rubbed her face against the box of ashes and the grief threatened to drown me.
I went to therapy (online) with the stress of maxing out on my benefits looming, but feeling like he was the only person it was okay to admit I really really wasn’t okay to. He said to me what I will hold onto throughout this:
“Just because the world is on pause, doesn’t mean your problems or mental health are on pause. Your struggles before this started are still valid.”
I wanted to believe him.
So when Dr. Fitzgerald came out today and said it was a hard time for everyone— that our mental health mattered, it hit home. It felt like for the first time I was given permission to not be okay. I know she talked about mental health before, but I think it’s the first time I really heard it. That the isolation was making us lose our minds and it was okay. That we should ask for help.
I realize that the very thing I am saying right now is all centered on me. But I am writing this because my therapist suggested to me that I am not the only one. That there are people right now who realize the world problems are huge, that their problems in the grand scheme of a global pandemic, aren’t important to many people (Which is understandable! The news is rightly dominating. Guiding us for how we should act.) — but it doesn’t mean the pre-existing problems aren’t valid and real.
He also suggested that maybe some people are okay with this. That the pandemic has provided relief from the stress of going out and some may actually thriving in the new environment. They might be hiding in the guilt of feeling bad about being happy while the pandemic rages on. If you are someone who has found solace in the pause of the world- I am SO happy for you. I’m so glad slivers of happiness are in this awful new world.
But I’m writing this to tell you that if you’re NOT okay from pre-existing problems— you are not alone. Am I still wracked with guilt? Yes. Should you be? No.
Are you experiencing anxiety for the first time? I’m so sorry that you have to experience this. I wouldn’t even wish it on Trump.
You might have been in the middle of a mentally unstable period. You might be grieving. You might have unresolved problems. Your mental health might be deteriorating and you feel guilty for caring about that when physical health is so highlighted right now. (Rightly so!!!)
Are you staying home? Are you doing what you can to stop the spread? That’s important.
But if you’re not okay, if your brain is fighting you and you are mentally unwell, that’s okay. You matter.
If you feel like you’re not doing enough and you’re at home feeling guilty about your mental health. This is a reminder that staying home is helping.
I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m cheering for you.
You’re not alone. I promise. I’m there with you.
_________
From the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador
The outbreak of COVID-19 may be stressful for people. You may be experiencing a high degree of uncertainty, worry, anxiety and stress about the health and safety of your loved ones, and how COVID-19 may disrupt the lives of you and your family.
If you are finding it difficult to cope or feel anxious, Bridge the gapp offers many services to support you and your wellbeing. Please visit www.bridgethegapp.ca for more information.
If you are feeling isolated and alone during COVID-19, you are encouraged to reach out and speak with a trained mental health peer supporter. Call the Provincial CHANNAL Warm Line at 1-855-753-2560 9:00am to 12:00am daily. Note that, due to large call volumes, you may be prompted to leave a voice mail. CHANNAL will return your call with a blocked phone number to protect your privacy.
If you are experiencing a mental health crisis, you should call the Mental Health Crisis Line at 1-888-737-4668, available 24 hours a day, or use the Crisis Text service by texting 686868.
