Covid-19 is taking it’s toll on all of us. We hear students talk about struggling with progressing in their studies, with remote teaching, and increasingly, with mental health – about struggling to cope during this incredibly difficult time. And while reading positive posts and tips on how to make this more bearable are very much in need to cope with the uncertainty and dread and the headlines, I think it’s incredibly important we talk about the bad as well. The sorrow, the loss, the fear, the anxiety and depression – whatever it is you might be going through. The following poem explores themes of isolation and depression (the content might be triggering for some readers) in the context of Covid-19.
Covid-19 is a Depression Simulator.
Sometimes, I feel a chasm open up in my chest
Just below by ribcage, spreading its vacant fingers into my
Windpipe, throat, the hollow of my neck
See, here, you can sort of feel it if you try, like this–
A sick sort of emptiness built of the pressure of terror
No difficulty breathing, though
No driving to the test-center again
No risk-group family memebers infected
Small mercies.
And yet–
And yet.
I’m falling.
An empty hall, a maze with transparent walls
Made of white-bright screenlight and Zoom-calls
A boundless landscape of loneliness and endless echoes
Sound delays and frozen screens and tired, tired eyes.
Sometimes, I am trapped in the vastness of my own reactions.
I wanted to scream before
My mouth feels weary.
No symtoms of respiratory infection.
But something, something–
a bleariness in my pulse point
an ache forming behind my eyes
Endless rows of haunted windows
preventing human connection
And nothing but white-wet fog of unclarity behind them
Flashing headlines and rising numbers
I’m too tired to be desperate
And lonely in a way that words cannot encompass.
They slip past me and through me in mundane dialogue
I stumble and forget to try and catch them
How many cases today?
Do we all get like this, now?
Weary-tired-anxious
And these words are pointless aren’t they?
They’re not we’ve got this
And the space between the letters is where I crawl into
To forget them
To forget what I’m writing of
To forget what I’m living
To forget what we’re living.
And it’s white-hot blaring neutral
And empty-empty-empty
And the most important part of this poem
is the one not made of words
It’s made of space, of isolation
And shaped into nothingness
Imagine it here, below
Our shared, aching emptiness.
Shaped into verse
Yearning to be forgotten.
If you are struggling with coping, please do not hesitate to seek professional help. I’ve listed some links and phone numbers below:
Crisis Helpline in Finnish
call 09 2525 0111 open 24hrs everyday, including public holidays
Crisis Helpline in Arabic and English
call 09 2525 0113 on Mon, Tue 11-15, Wed 13-16 and 17-21, Thu 10-15
Crisis Helpline in Swedish
call 09 2525 0112 on Mon, Wed 16-20, Tue, Thu and Fri 9-13
Helsinki Psychiatric Emergency Services
Consider contacting your local health station.
Some private clinics also offer mental help help.