I decided it’s time to tell you why you probably won’t see me around town with a mask on. It’s not a political belief; it’s not an anti-science choice; it’s a mental health choice.
You see, I am — what I would have called six months ago — very mildly claustrophobic. For the most part it doesn’t interfere in my life.
I don’t get on crowded elevators. I don’t wear hats except when absolutely necessary to keep from freezing to death or getting badly sunburned — but I will take any other alternative first. I can’t handle balloons near my face. I keep my face out of the water when I swim — I can do about half a lap before I have to flip over to my back. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought a life guard was going to dive in to rescue me when I was hanging on the edge of the pool trying to breathe, although that was probably just in my head. — I don’t even put my face in the water in the shower.
Six months ago, all of that was within my control. Now there are places I can’t go without putting something over my face. I’m not telling you this because I think I’m special. I fully support a business’ right to require masks on their property. I just don’t go there unless I absolutely have to.
If you do see me with a mask on, know that I have decided what I’m doing is more important than the consequences and I can’t come up with an alternative to get the job done.
But really, this column is not just about me. What prompts me to talk to you about it is the reception I’ve gotten when I try to explain.
"Masks are hard to get used to." Um, no. This isn't about getting used to it. If it was, then it would be a little easier each time instead of feeling paralyzed when I just think about wearing a mask.
"I hate them, too." It's not about not liking wearing a mask or being uncomfortable. It is about the migraine-like headache and the feeling of not knowing up from down. It's about not being able to focus on a conversation or make a decision. It's about the fact that I forget to breathe if I'm wearing a mask. It's about the racing heartbeat and the escalating blood pressure. It's about sitting in my car after taking the mask off, dizzy and shaking, and then spending the rest of the day sleeping it off.
"My glasses fog up, my ears get sore, etc." All of those things have solutions — by the way, yes, I am working on a solution to my issue and I think I've got it figured out.
So why do I feel the need to tell you, especially now that I’ve found something I can wear that I believe protects both you and me?
Imagine instead of claustrophobia, I said depression. And your answer was being sad is hard to get used to or I don’t like getting out of bed either. Imagine I said dyslexia and you said I just needed to work harder. What if I said bipolar disorder or severe anxiety and you said I just needed to calm down?
I can tell you first hand how disheartening that is. It feels like the person isn’t hearing me, like they are dismissing me. I already feel like this is all in my head. — I know, objectively, that there’s no reason for a mask to bother me the way it does. I consider myself a pretty level-headed person. I know that these feelings don’t make sense. But I can’t make it go away, even when it’s a store I really want to go into or an activity I enjoy. (I’m sorry Ulta, I tried to shop with you.)
Mental health issues are hard enough to work on when you are being supported. When no one believes you or they minimize your problem, it only makes it that much harder.
You have friends with mental health issues — statistically one in five adults have a diagnosable mental illness — Hear them when they get the courage to tell you how tough it is. Hear them and don’t try make it less of a problem than it is. See them when they can’t get out of bed or take a shower or brush their hair.
Don’t call their feelings “ridiculous.” Don’t think the solution is obvious — even when it is so clear to you. Yes, getting out in the sunshine is good for depression, but the nature of the beast makes it hard to go there.
So then what? How do you offer help?
First, listen. — I know I already said that, but it bears repeating. Then, understand that small steps may be needed. Instead of saying, “You should get out more,” say, “Let’s just sit on the porch for a minute.” And know that some days, even small steps are too hard. Don’t give up on them, keep trying, keep supporting them in small ways.
If they can’t leave their house, make sure they have healthy food to eat. If you are a close enough friend, offer to sort through that giant stack of mail that might be paralyzing them. Send a text message that just says, “I’m here for you.”
Know the difference between being sensitive to their needs and privacy and stepping in when they truly need your help. If you suspect they will harm themselves, ask them and get them help. Current advice for helping those considering suicide is to be direct. “Are you thinking of hurting or killing yourself?” Anything less than a firm “no” could be a “yes.”
I’ll be OK, someday this pandemic will be over and claustrophobia will go back to being a tiny part of my life. Make sure your friends will be OK, too. Listen and support them. It matters.
If you or someone you know is facing a mental health crisis, there is a free national helpline 1-800-662-HELP (4357) with information and referral services.
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Let me know what matters to you at rsmith@crestonnews.com, 641-782-2141 ext. 6433, or c/o Creston News Advertiser, 503 W. Adams St., Creston, Iowa 50801.