[Image description: The author, a Black non-binary person with short black hair, has their eyes closed in a B&W self-portrait. The shadows surround their shoulders. They have some facial hair.]
The global COVID-19 pandemic has forced me to recognize that I have felt lonely for longer than I wish to admit. This past Saturday marked my seventh full week without any human touch. No dap, no hug, no handshake, no high five, no cuddling, no sex. No physical human intimacy—platonic, sexual or otherwise—whatsoever. Being alone and depressed is something I can handle. I like being alone and I’m used to my depression at this point in my life. But being alone, depressed, and lonely becomes a much bigger issue during quarantine.
I had the option of seeing other people and the luxury of living by myself. This arrangement provided me with both the space and the social interaction I needed. I worked a lot from home before and I’m lucky to be able to continue that work, but I don’t live with any other humans. I now only leave my apartment to walk with Apple, my dog, and to go to the grocery store. I can count on one hand how many interactions I have had since my shelter-in-place started and none of them included any physical touch.
I had never experienced this before, so I didn’t know, but touch starvation has made my depression much worse. As much as Apple, my dog, has made things bearable, there is no replacement for human touch. No amount of video chats, phone calls, text messages, voice notes, and photos can replace the feeling of being able to touch someone you love. Many people have been going on social distance walks, hikes, and dates, but being so close without being able to actually touch just leaves me feeling emptier. So what do you do when you’re alone in a pandemic?
As the U.S. began to finally take measures to stop the spread of COVID-19 in late March, I watched my late-twenties and mid-thirties friends move back in with their families. Although some of these folks lived states away, many people justifiably decided to quarantine with those they loved. Like me, others chose to shelter-in-place right where they were. Now, every person faces challenges when quarantining with a family member, a roommate, or a loved one. But where do you go when you live alone and family doesn’t feel like an option?
I always had what I wanted and needed from my parents as a kid. So how what was there to take issue with when I went to bed with a full stomach, had my own room, and felt loved? Simply put, the extreme love was accompanied by extreme emotional pain. In June 2018, I wrote one of my parents an email detailing—for the first time in full—how their emotional and psychological abuse has made me feel throughout my life. The choice to write, rather than call, was deliberate. I only wanted to communicate over email because I rarely felt that my parent actually listened to what I was saying during phone calls. This didn’t go well.
Almost two years have passed and I still don’t talk to that parent, nor do I spend holidays at home or wish them a happy birthday. Two of my siblings stopped talking to me except in emergency situations. I could ask to move back home and I would likely receive a reluctant “yes,” but I don’t want to sleep on a couch in a house where I do not feel emotionally safe. One of my siblings and my other parent read the letter, affirmed my feelings, agreed with my retelling of events, and chose to still talk to me. But neither are a viable option to move in with or have move in with me for a number of reasons. And family members—chosen and biological—are either back in their childhood homes, living miles away, or dealing with too much to drop everything if something were to happen to me. So we return to the question I asked earlier: what do you do when you’re alone in a pandemic?
The act of standing up for myself didn’t magically vanquish my depression and anxiety once and for all. I am better at setting boundaries in all of my relationships, but cutting losing such an important relationship from my life was shitty, to say the least. It hurt to send that email and it hurts to think on what our relationships have become, but dwelling on how a parent is choosing their pride over making amends with their adult child does not serve me. I am still not going to entertain relationships that ultimately leave me feeling worse even as novel coronavirus forces me to reckon with loneliness,
In short, things are not okay. Things are not business as usual. What happens to people in life is deeply unfair. Who gets sick and why is deeply unfair. The system and effects of capitalism are deeply unfair. Personally, I am not “good,” nor am I doing particularly well. But I am, in relation to so many other people in the world, okay. And over the last two months I feel like I’ve experienced so many stages of grief in a non-linear fashion, but I’m finally finding some comfort in acceptance. In thinking about my present situation and loneliness, I also want to share how I cope (in no particular order)
My support network. Friends (online and offline), family members, colleagues, mentors, and patrons who support me. I talk to, exchange snailmail with, laugh with, vent to, text, call, email, grouptext, tweet, and facetime these people and I am so grateful to be surrounded by love. These don’t replace in-person interaction, but they can help.
Redistributing resources. Whether I can support mutual aid projects or redistribute some of my own resources, I try to use my proximity to power (e.g. grad student, advanced degree, social media platform) to help.
Nature. I love me a flower and a leaf. Shelter-in-place orders differ and are enforced unfairly along axes of identity, so nature could be a hike or a streaming show about nature or the plants you take care of everyday or even your favorite plant instagram account.
Escapism. Animal Crossing, anime, music, television, movies, and books can really hit the spot when I have enough energy and interest to engage.
Sleep. I love sleep. I love naps. I love my bed. And I love my new weighted blanket that helps me feel held and a little less lonely.
thank you. This helped. I broke with a parent too. I feel less alien after reading this.
Sending you a virtual hug, Anthony! Didn't know you'd gone through all that with your family of origin. Look forward to seeing you in person.