Indulgent Isolation

A stream of consciousness about being an introvert during covid. CW: brief mention of death? “Sometimes I wish it were socially acceptable to never leave my room.” Lying on my bedroom floor, I lamented to my mother, who stood in the doorway. My mental health was in the gutter, thanks in large part to a recent breakup and the resultant loss of most of my friends. I’d discovered the healing power of PB&Js and fruit snacks, nostrums typically taken multiple times daily. There was a seemingly bottomless void in my soul. And I wanted to fill it with art. I wanted to compose a symphony. Take up watercolors again. Try my hand at slam poetry. But art takes time, and dedication. Most days I was at school from 7am to 7pm due to various extracurriculars, and by the time I got home and finished all my homework, it was far past midnight. I had no free time to test out any new hobbies. One Friday in March, an announcement came over the loudspeaker: all after-school clubs have been cancelled. We knew what that really meant. “COVID-19” had been the talk of the town for weeks by this point. A petition for our high school to cancel in-person learning (as all other schools in the area had already done) garnered nearly two thousand signatures. The admins could only go so long without acknowledging the pandemic. My AP Gov teacher nervously glanced around the room at our unfinished group projects and recommended we get as much done as possible in the next 20 minutes, since “we… may or may not be back here on Monday.” At the end of the day, three thousand kids piled out of the building, loudly debating whether or not we were overreacting to a disease with 200 cases and a 3% mortality rate. Either way, it’ll be nice to start spring break early. As expected, school went online the following week. Big events were getting called off left and right— first the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, then Turnabout… and the impending idea of virtual prom loomed over everyone. Sinophobia began to permeate the common vernacular again, much to the amusement of the Chinese guy I was semi-dating at the time. He would joke about how his entire extended family was coming to visit from Wuhan, and I would sarcastically bemoan the fact that I was no longer spending multiple hours a day in close quarters with my ex-boyfriend. The extroverts were losing their minds while the introverts looked on and laughed. Introvert is a weirdly nebulous term. The definition varies depending on where you look or who you ask. To me, being an introvert means that, for the most part, I derive more energy from being alone than I do from being with others. It’s not as intense as it used to be; in early high school I could only spend a few hours at a time with friends before I had to go home and take a nap. As I got older, I came to find social interaction less draining, but nevertheless took no issue with long periods of solitude. At our core, we’re social creatures. A massive part of the human condition is our ability to form complex interpersonal relationships. The thing is, I don’t feel compelled to do that. And I suffer as a result. It’s like if I never felt hungry or thirsty. Even if I had no intrinsic desire to eat, the fact is that my body needs food and water to function properly, and it won’t be long before I’m dehydrated and completely depleted of energy. Where am I going with this? Basically, when you’re in a pandemic, social interaction becomes entirely deliberate. In the past, I’d see dozens of people every day just by pure circumstance. I’d be seated next to someone I didn’t know and make small talk, I’d pass a friend in the hallway and say hi, so on. But now, whether or not I talk to anyone is entirely up to me. And 9 times out of 10 I choose not. Thank god I have a roommate—and one who I like, at that—to give me that bit of daily circumstantial interaction. Because there’s a reason solitary confinement is considered a form of torture. Last semester, we lost a student on my floor. He was a freshman like me, and he and I had talked a bit before he suddenly took his own life. For weeks afterward, I couldn’t stop thinking about how he had a single room. If I didn’t have a roommate, if I didn’t have that social pressure to get out of bed before 3pm… I don’t know how I’d be faring by now. Certainly worse than my current state, and my current state isn’t great. “I wish it were socially acceptable to never leave my room.” Are these words of introversion, or depression? Am I writing off derealization as shyness? …The truth is, I don’t know. What I do know is that the mental toll of COVID-19 is latent—but INCREDIBLY existent—in those of us who jump at the chance to indulge in isolation.