10 June 2021
For all the damage COVID-19 has wreaked across the earth, its been a playground for researchers and reporters. Studies show increased rates of anxiety,
depression, domestic violence, obesity and rare blood clots all be linked
to the pandemic. But will someone please write a decent article about what I –
and I suspect not just myself – am experiencing: Survivor’s guilt.
The American Psychology Association defines survivor’s guilt as: Remorse for a) having survived a catastrophic event when others did not or b) not suffering the ills that others had to endure.1
You know, it’s like if you were in a freak boating accident. You survived – just – but your best mate and his kids didn’t. And you didn’t just wake up in the
hospital with no memory of the incident. You watched them slowly go down; drift
away. And nothing – the copious amounts of coffee purchased from the corner
cafe, the excessive Uber-eats to keep local restaurants going, the zoom
check-ins with family and daily laps around the block with walking buddies –
nothing could save them.
Now, don’t get me wrong: it’s not like I haven’t suffered at
all. I’m a Melbournian, sigh. At this very time of writing, I’m meant to be with my
sister in Queensland. Instead, I sit on my couch, locked down for the 4th time.
But who am I to complain – or gather pity – when others have it so much worse? A friend was meant to travel to NZ this week to see her mother, terminal with cancer. A workmate was meant to get married on Saturday – I was to be her musician. The family of my Indian neighbours are in crisis. (My parents are travelling round and round NZ in freedom). All around, businesses struggle. Mental health takes yet another dive. (I’m bored and blogging in pyjamas).
And don’t get me wrong: It’s not like I haven’t seen
suffering before. But this time its… different. Perhaps its that it’s so close to home.... yet so widespread. The kid next door is affected - as well as Mr President. It follows us around our 10k radius - on our masked faces and sanitised hands, in front of our Zoom-fatigued eyes and
on our news feeds in our pockets.
And somehow, I’ve survived the nuclear fallout.
Why me? Why not me? And - apart from the coffees, Uber eats, zoom check-ins and masked laps around the block - what to do? Sometimes I wonder which is worse: being a casualty or being helpless.
Survivor's Guilt: Turns out those that have 'got it good' aren't always 'all good'.
