Fighting Depression During a Pandemic

*Twigger Warner Depression and Suicidality*

I cross a pedestrian overpass across Storrow Drive and look down at the empty parkway during what should be rush hour. I walk my bike above the overpass and ride along the Charles, I’m relieved that there aren’t as many people along the river, and that people are practicing social distancing. Yet I know that I’m being hypocritical because I’m out in the world and not currently at home. 

         The signs of spring are on full display, flowers are beginning to bloom. I feel like the sun and spring air or rejuvenating me. It’s the best that I’ve felt all day. I need this time outdoors, to be able to get out of my dark thoughts.  Yet I feel guilty for how good this bike ride makes me feel. I’m terrified that my need to be outside will put others at risk. I have searched online to see what is recommended and felt solace by the City of the Boston posting guidelines saying that exercise is permitted. Yet I still keep in my mind social media posts encouraging people to stay home. 

            In the past month I have fallen back into depressive thoughts that I had believed were in my past. Only two weeks before this bike ride I had one of my worst panic attacks. Earlier that day I had my first video session with my therapist. I had tried to speak to her in my car, for privacy from my roommate. The video was freezing up on my phone. Not to mention that it was an unbelievably cold New England day and sitting in a freezing car was not conducive to comfort. When I turned on the car the audio got messed up because my phone is connected to the audio in the car. When I switched the venue of the session into my apartment I was constantly nervous that my roommate could hear. When it ended I felt worse than when it had begun. 

            That night I lay in bed, unable to sleep, knowing that it was getting closer to when my alarm would go off for work. I felt overcome with emotions, my depression and anxiety were teaming up on me. The depressed part of me felt completely hopeless, and the anxious part of me wanted to run and hide. Those two parts conflicting made my despair feel even more intense, the only solution that I could think of was taking my own life but I knew that I didn’t want to do. I knew that I didn’t want to die, and couldn’t do that to my therapist, as a fellow social worker I knew how much it would hurt. 

Without options I just felt despair, I called a suicide hotline for the first time in my life. It was refreshing to cry on the phone with to an anonymous person, who didn’t know me at my best, how far I had felt like I had fallen.  I felt slightly better after that night. Had bad days mixed with good days. So many moments where I felt so appreciative for everyone I have, a career that challenges and interests me, amazing friends, a roommate that I get along with, a home that I feel safe in, family and loved ones who are safe. The gratitude that I have makes these times of distress even more difficult because I feel like I’m week. Yet three weeks later I found myself again in a hopeless state and I call the suicide hotline again. It took close to 20 minutes before I was able to get through to someone, it felt like it symbolized the burden that I was taking up too many resources in the world. 

I feel like I am fighting for my life. Which feels like an insensitive thing to say while there are people in our hospitals literally fighting for their life. I always knew that isolation was a trigger for me. I want more than anything to be around people again, the absence of seeing people I care about feels like I’m missing a part of me. I hate that what I want would put others in danger of infection. Depression makes it difficult to see life outside of yourself. Which makes me feel more selfish during this time that the world is coming together to help others, to be just thinking of myself. I look at social media posts that says “You aren’t stuck at home. You’re safe at home” or “it’s a privilege to shelter in place at home”. I make gratitude lists and feel more week. 

When I go for bike rides on the river it feels like what I need to keep myself going. However, I worry that my needs are not what is good for the collective society. If 100 more people are that the Charles the same time I am, that is dangerous.  I’ve always been the type of person who puts my own needs before others. Whenever I would do something to take care of myself I’d worry about being selfish. Now my needs for being in the community actually are selfish. Self-care is hard to manage to during this time when all of my typical modes of comfort are not accessible during this pandemic. Depression is often an inner voice telling you that your problems are not enough, or that your weak. It seems like that voice is amplified when there are so many others suffering during these times.

 This is a time when a lot seems fragile, mental health is one of these times. Reach out to those by phone, find creative coping skills. Most of all be gentle on yourself, everyone’s struggles are valid. Just because someone else has it worse then you it doesn’t make your pain less real. 

Your Pain Deserves to Be Honored

              The anxiety started with my 30^th birthday trip to Italy and Greece. I had planned this trip down to the last day. I had been apprehensive about turning 30, it seemed to be a marker of everything that I haven’t yet achieved in my life. This trip was my way of taking control of my narrative by bringing in the new decade under my terms. In the end of February when Coronavirus emerged in Italy I began anxiously researching worldwide spread of Coronavirus on the internet. 

            It’s hard to believe that was only a month ago that the idea of having to cancel my trip was my biggest worry. I completely underestimated how much this disease was going to ravage the world. The death toll goes up daily, and we are warned that the worst of it is yet to come. Several people have lost their jobs, and I worry about the long-term health consequences that this massive unemployment will have. 

             All of this pain that people are experiencing makes my worries seem so minor in comparison. In mid-March as COVID 19 began to ravage the United States I made a point of making daily gratitude lists. However much I had to be thankful for I couldn’t help but feel miserable. 

            The weekend of March 14^th as many American began to terms with the new reality, bars were still open across the United States but many people were dissuaded from going out to bars. I’m embarrassed to say that I was resistant to social distancing. It felt like the angel and devil were fighting inside of me. My intellectual part understood the importance of flattening the curve. However, my emotional part of myself was fighting to go out into the world, seeking solace by anything resembling a “normal” weekend. 

            When 9/11 happened, I was 11 years old, growing up in the New York City area made fear woven into my coming of age. The media sensationalized the fear from that Tuesday morning for years later. I had to teach myself from a young age to have some skepticism of the media’s characterizations of threats. I developed a strange comfort from knowing that death could come to me at any time, I was more likely to die by walking down the street and be hit by a car then being a victim of a terror attack when riding the subway, or in some high tourist location. 

            That doesn’t mean that I haven’t been afraid. When I was 15, the fall after the London terror attacks, my mom started letting me take the train into Brooklyn to hang out with my childhood best friend from when I lived there. One of the first times the I took the Long Island Railroad into New York City, we were pulling into the tunnel and the train stopped. It would move again intermittently but making loud noises in the process. My heart started pounding fast, suddenly I did not feel like an independent woman taking the train in. I wanted reassurance, I turned around to the passenger behind me and asked them if everything was ok. After the humored me by comforting me we pulled into the station. My anxiety about being in tunnels did not disappear but I lived and took the train in spite of it. Some of my greatest joys have been a byproduct of living despite the fear.

            It took me a few weeks to understand and have compassion for the part of myself that was initially resisting social distancing. Now I understand that I felt like I was giving into a fear of the world that I’ve been fighting back against my entire adolescent and adult life. 

In the first few days of this pandemic I obsessively read tweets and articles that chastised people for violating social distancing, against my therapist’s advice. I used all those articles to criticize myself. 

Laura you are selfish for caring more about Sunday brunch then the health of others. Laura you have nothing to complain about others have it so much worse then you. Laura you a week for not being able to manage this social distancing.

 Scott Berinato wrote on March 23^rd 2020, The Discomfort You’re Feeling is Grief.[1]He outlined the stages of grief that Elizabeth Kubler Ross outlines. As I read his words I found myself dissolving into tears of relief. I finally was able to look at how I was feeling with compassion, I was grieving the loss of control I felt about my plans, grieving the time that I was missing with close friends. I feel like a light inside of me has burnt out. Being able to acknowledge that grief gave me the first sense of comfort that I had felt in weeks. 

When social distancing first started I tried to find things to fill by days with, such as reading, or cleaning. However, I found myself not having the energy to do any of this. It’s been a struggle to get out of bed. I looked up things up that will help people manage mental health symptoms during social distancing. None of that worked. What finally helped me feel better was making space for the sadness that I felt. Yes, my pain might not be as much as what others are experiencing but it is still real. I miss touch, I miss crowds, I miss my co-workers cracking up during staff meetings. I miss community. All of that pain is real. No matter what pain you may be experiencing that is real and it deserves to be honored and comforted. 

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·      [1]

That Discomfort You're Feeling Is Grief

Scott Berinato - https://hbr.org/2020/03/that-discomfort-youre-feeling-is-grief