Have You Lost it Yet?

Summary

The article reflects on the emotional toll and societal impact of the COVID-19 pandemic in the United States, particularly in New York City, highlighting the widespread stress, anxiety, and instances of public breakdowns as the nation surpasses a quarter-million deaths.

Abstract

As the U.S. grapples with the devastating effects of the COVID-19 pandemic, the article paints a picture of a society under immense strain. With over 250,000 lives lost by November 22, 2020, the emotional impact is palpable, leading to incidents of public emotional breakdowns. The author recounts a friend's experience of crying in a hospital lobby amidst a sea of masked individuals awaiting COVID tests, symbolizing the overwhelming nature of the crisis. The pandemic has upended daily life, causing widespread unemployment, stress for essential workers, and challenges for those working from home. Small businesses are struggling, and the prospect of further stimulus appears bleak. The article suggests that the lack of public reaction to these stressors is surprising, given the gravity of the situation. It also touches on the personal impact of the pandemic, with the author experiencing challenges in certifying unemployment benefits, adding to the accumulating pressure. The piece concludes with a darkly humorous proposal for an annual "Losing Our Shit Day" to acknowledge and release the collective tension.

Opinions

The author expresses frustration with the U.S. government's handling of the pandemic, contrasting the nation's wealth and power with the stark reality of its COVID-19 death toll.
There is a sense of disbelief and sadness at the sight of people calmly lining up for COVID tests, a stark reminder of the pandemic's impact.
The article criticizes the lack of substantial government support, comparing the hope for further stimulus to the absurdity of wishing for horse turds to be biscuits.
The author points out the resilience and privacy valued in New York City, where individuals can express their emotions in public without much attention.
There is a concern that the current level of societal stress is unsustainable, potentially leading to more frequent and severe public incidents.
The piece reflects on the personal emotional toll, with the author experiencing anxiety over unemployment benefits and anticipating a breaking point.
The proposal for "Losing Our Shit Day" serves as a satirical commentary on the need for societal recognition of the collective emotional burden caused by the pandemic.
The author suggests that the public should be prepared for moments of emotional vulnerability, advoc

I’m counting down until I do and it won’t be pretty

Here we are, eight months into an unprecedented global health crisis that has been so badly handled in the United States — remember us, the Richest and Most Powerful Nation on Earth? — that as of 22 November, 2020, we’ve hit over a quarter of a million people dead. If you’re not feeling some tug of under-the-skin dread, anxiety, depression, and/or stress you are officially one of that quarter-million.

A friend shared today about having a complete emotional breakdown yesterday in line at a large affiliate office of a local hospital to get her first COVID test (killer timing, Renee). The lines were snaking through the lobby and out the door and down the block. People were obediently masked and maintaining the holy six-foot separation. Renee was doing all right until the piano player started — because, yes, this place does have a grand piano in the lobby — and that tore it. She simply stood there sobbing and shaking. Later she told me the sadness of seeing all those people calmly lined up to be tested for something none of us had even heard of last Thanksgiving overwhelmed her.

The news and the numbers are breathtakingly worse every day. Each record broken represents hundreds of thousands more lives derailed. People are either unemployed, having to suck it up and do whatever job has been deemed essential (too many of which are low paying), or taking a deep breath before starting another day of working in the bedroom while overseeing the defacto middle school at the dining room table. Small businesses are going down and anyone still hoping for further stimulus money may as well hope for horse turds to be biscuits.

The surprise is not that Renee broke down. The surprise is that the streets aren’t filled with sobbing, shaking people every day.

Among the “queer prizes” bestowed on the inmates of this particular asylum is that of privacy (thanks, E.B. White!) and that means you can cry ugly, have screaming fights in person or on the phone, talk to yourself, sing off-key, practice silly walks, or stand on your head nearly anywhere in public and people will go right on about their business. It takes a lot to get people to stare at you in this city.

But each of the 8,000,000 of us here and probably more than a few of those in your part of the forest are heading for the day when we blow.

This much insanity, this much death, this much pressure can’t keep building indefinitely. Already here we’ve got mentally unstable people pushing others onto the subway tracks, wild shoot-outs with old ladies on buses getting grazed by bullets, and neighborhood food pantries running out of food. As I write this, I’m feeling the pressure rising.

Then this morning I was unable to certify my unemployment benefits due to an error at the Department of Labor that indicates my “claim is incomplete”. Having spoken to no less than three different people at the Department of Labor last week who each reassured me that supposedly incomplete claim had been corrected, all I can do now is chew my fingernails and rock in the corner (without a rocking chair). And call the Department of Labor again tomorrow. Oh, and write about all of it. I know you’re surprised.

When will you lose it? When will I?

Ideally, I’ll go off the deep end in the privacy of our apartment, but there are no guarantees. Getting off the subway the other day, two unmasked people pushed against me in a rush to get on the train. I’d like to think I’m not the kind of person to grab someone like that by the scruff of their neck and shove them off the train. But I am the kind of person who reflexively reached around and grabbed the backpack of some pinhead who nearly knocked me down when I was still in my stabilization boot. That girl was surprised (and she missed her train)!

So I could conceivably be the dummy who winds up on the evening news after getting her ass kicked for pulling that kind of stunt.

Maybe we should consider making a date to just totally lose our shit under some kind of optimal circumstances instead of waiting until that hundredth nimrod of the day passes with his mask under his nose. Put it on the calendar. Even post it on social media! We could start a movement. Make it an annual holiday even.

Losing Our Shit Day. We’d get the day off work because obviously, no boss in her right mind is going to want to have to deal with an office or shop full of screeching, gibbering, sobbing, incoherent people who might also be wrecking the place. I’m seeing Adam Neumann jumping at the golden opportunity to establish WeFreakOut spaces with soft furniture and Nerf bats.

At any rate, consider yourself warned

Be prepared as you go out to stock up on toilet paper — again — because it’s really only a matter of time before you’re standing next to that crying, shaking person. Be kind. Keeping your distance, reach over and hand them a tissue. Understand that your day is coming.

I know mine is.