2020

You can never find a soul that’s got no pain within.

The Black Keys, “Year in Review”

It’s hard to believe the year is finally coming to a close. Figuratively, in the sense that it often feels like time flies… but also literally, since this year didn’t so much “fly by” as it “lasted an entire decade”.

Looking back through what all has transpired across the globe is daunting. It’s the same feeling as when a stray phrase heard in the middle of your day makes you remember a fragment of a dream from the night before. It has been an exhausting year in every possible way. But, as is my goal when speaking about mental health in general, there are lessons to be found in the low points of a year like this. In fact, a perfect analogy came to me just a couple of short weeks ago.

And all I had to do to find this analogy was test positive for COVID-19.

Do you smell what The Rock is cooking?

Because I couldn’t. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t smell much of anything. Every so often I might catch a whiff, like if I literally put my entire face into the jar of a candle, but that’s not a very practical way to go about things. The loss of sense is how I knew the pandemic had finally caught up to me, even though my official test results wouldn’t arrive for another 20 hours or so.

It’s difficult to describe just how profoundly weird a loss of taste truly is. Obviously, we’d all heard of that as a major sign that you’re positive for the virus, but it’s hard to really know what it’s like until it happens to you. That’s because, as I found out, there is much more going on while you’re eating aside from just the taste of the food. Texture is obvious, since a lot of us avoid certain foods for that exact reason (looking at you, lima beans). But on top of the overall taste and texture, I came to appreciate the fact that your tongue and mouth react to the foods you eat completely independently of taste.

Think of a glass of lemonade. A bite of your favorite spicy dish. Your favorite minty fresh toothpaste. A sip of wine. The helpful-yet-unpleasant experience associated with every swig of Dayquil. Chances are, you can recall the sensations you experience with one or all of these things aside from just the taste. That’s exactly what happened for me for a week as I worked my way through the virus. Sweet snacks would still light up the sweet sensation on my tongue (good vibrations were sadly gone as well). Taking a swig of lemonade still registered the sour reaction on my tongue. But, there was no flavor. I was experiencing just about everything associated with a meal or beverage, but with none of the flavor.

That’s when I realized COVID-19 was inadvertently a great analogy for mental health.

With depression, there are so many instances where an experience will check off all the right boxes. You’ll see friends or family and know you’re loved, order your favorite meal and dessert, watch your favorite movie, or listen to your favorite album on repeat. And in each case, you can objectively see how the boxes are being checked… but there’s no feeling of contentment. There’s no flavor. Even when everything (and sometimes, everyone) is telling you “this is an experience you enjoy”, there is no enjoyment.

In a way, 2020 as a whole has been a twisted lesson in mental health struggles on a global scale. The helplessness, anxiety, and isolation that has accompanied billions of us for an entire year is, sadly, how millions go throughout their lives regardless of rampant viruses. Similarly, a small but very vocal subsection of the world refused to take the virus seriously despite the overwhelming evidence all around us, much like the attitude some have toward mental health as a whole.

Silver lining

I have no doubt that everyone reading this has their own tale of the ups and downs they faced during such a once-in-a-generation event like the pandemic. I doubled the dose of my antidepressant just before the shutdowns started. I was, and am, an “essential” worker, meaning my coworkers and I get periodically exposed to COVID from our patients, but are expected to come right back in the next day as long as we had our proper PPE and aren’t symptomatic. I added an antianxiety medication to my treatment. At one point, I’d doubled the amount of therapy sessions I was scheduling throughout the month. I mourned friends who were gone far too soon. I worried for others in my family that, with almost absolute certainty, caught the virus because of me.

Despite all the pain, which is different for each of us, there is one thing I have in common with every single one of you reading this: we survived. One of the worst possible years has come, and in the morning, it will be gone.

Not only did I survive, I saw friends when and if it was safe to do so. I celebrated one of my best friends getting married, and made new friends in the process. I met my niece. I met my daughter. And you know what? Not every good thing from this year even has to be that profound. I got a new TV around tax return season. I played a lot of Animal Crossing. I found some new music to listen to on Spotify. I have a few new pairs of pants that fit my dad bod better. I was able to see Tenet in theaters. When I was in quarantine, I finally finished watching Daredevil on Netflix, and finished a couple of video games too.

It doesn’t matter if you never made some homemade bread, or never got into the best shape of your life, or any other goal that seemed like it was being pushed as a priority during a global crisis. Pandemic or not, there is nothing wrong with taking your days one at a time. Sometimes it seems like all the things you want so desperately to enjoy will never be fulfilling again. But, when you least expect it, a little light starts to shine through… then a little more, over and again, until the fog is lifted. The flavor returns.