One year of the pandemic, from the point of view of a clinically depressed person


Dan Meyers on Unsplash

According to the World Health Organization, over 264 million people suffer from depression around the world.

Emily Dvareckas, Photo Editor

One year ago I wrote an article titled “Mental health truths and the coronavirus.” Now that it has been a year, I thought I would reflect on everything that has changed. Unfortunately, things have not changed in a positive way. I finished that article with a sense of hope and advice to my fellow Hawks, advice that I did not seem to take myself.

I am so mentally drained from the past year and it has caused me to not take care of myself mentally and physically. I will not lie, I am extremely hypocritical and never take my own advice. I want people to love themselves and look beyond their flaws and I want people to take care of themselves but for some reason, I cannot convince myself to do the same. I am so far from being healthy, it is a miracle that I am still walking.

My hair is falling out in bigger clumps than usual and my diet habits would make a dietician faint. I am well aware of my issues but I am just too tired to fix them or make attempts to fix them. The bags under my eyes have darkened and I seem to constantly have a headache. I am watching the days go by as if I am a spectator to my own life.

Nothing seems to change but the days keep passing. It has become so difficult to convince myself to participate in my own life. The view from my bed mirrors the view of a Caribbean resort, it is so beautiful and inviting but a part of me knows it is just a mirage.

If I go into my bed and give in to the temptations, the world around me will still go on and my responsibilities will not wait until my depression is somehow cured. I have such a difficult time realizing the severity of my depression until it is almost too late and I have gone off the deep end.

I cannot remember what life felt like before Grumpy Bear from the Care Bears latched onto my back so I cannot gauge how I feel. I do not allow myself to slowly fall into a depressive state, slowly losing interest in the things I love. I work myself until my breaking point and once I get there, it takes a long time to piece myself back together.

I keep pushing myself, oblivious to the pieces of me leaving a trail behind me. In the past year, I have hit my breaking point and crumbled so many times that I am running out of glue and forced to leave some pieces behind. I am afraid it is starting to show.

I found that the mask I put on each day to convince others and myself that I am okay does not fit well under the cloth mask I wear in an effort to end the pandemic. The same pandemic that has so rudely amplified my mental illnesses.

My anxiety is getting worse with each passing day and the progress I spent years working on has turned from a heavily guarded fortress to a castle made of playing cards.

I assure you this piece is not a cry for help. I have a good foundation to fall back on. Sure, I miss my parents and my dog who serve as the majority of my foundation but I have a few friends at school who perfectly fit into the cracks of it.

I wrote this piece mostly as an observation of how the past year has affected me and to relay how important it is to check on your loved ones. For the first time since writing my previous piece, I can see the light at the end of this incredibly long tunnel that will lead us back to normalcy.