Content warning: this article contains description of attempted suicide
The Covid-19 pandemic tearing through the world is terrifying, but it’s not the only disease we have to worry about. Loneliness is a horrible virus, one which kills you slowly and painfully. I know because it has made me its servant, and I have endured loneliness ever since I was born.
I grew up in rural town in East Africa on a nice farm with my twin sister. My mother was taken away from my dad and was forced by my uncle to marry another man for money. It was lonely to grow up without a mother, even though my dad, a church reverend, tried his best to bring us up alone. But after several years, he remarried the stepmother from hell, who treated us like slaves or rivals, rather than young stepchildren. We were not allowed to talk to one another and we would get a slap if we did. So we found other ways of communicating, as children always do.
As a young adult, I studied journalism and met my husband at university. I then worked as a sports reporter for TV, radio and local papers. I was considered a wealthy woman in my country and my two young children were doing well in school. But in 1985, the government changed. During internal conflicts in East Africa, I was abducted in 2001 by my own compatriots and taken into the bush. I thought I would never get out of there alive. Many of us were captured, but by then I was all alone in the world.
In the conflict, my father, my husband and the person who would have been my rock, my twin sister, were killed. My children, who were my strength, were abducted by the military. I was rescued by a friend who put me on a plane which brought me to my new country, the UK. I landed at Heathrow in July 2001 and was so ill, I was taken to hospital. But this was not the end of my troubles – I found myself so alone that I almost took my own life. The loneliness was who I had become.
“I was sharing a room with four other women, but I felt alone because we were roommates, not friends.”
I was sent to an immigration detention centre near London for three days. I was sharing a room with four other women, but I felt alone because we were roommates, not friends. We had never met before we were detained together. Each of us had our own problems to think about, and I did not want any of the women to know my secret. I think they felt the same.
After I was released from detention, identified as a torture survivor, I was housed in a room in a hostel. The loneliness remained. All I thought about then were my children, my parents and most of all, my twin sister. We were identical twins, so we had a lot in common and we had understood one another very well.
When things get tough, often the only solution you can see is to end it all, so that the suffering can end. When I once attempted suicide, I woke up in my room alone, hungry, and with no food. Luckily, when I opened the door, my neighbour saw me. She thought I had been away visiting a friend. I lied and said, I had been, but I was back now. I remember asking her to buy me a McDonalds. She was happy to help.
I live alone in Clapham, South London now and things are different. I volunteer and attend a creative writing group called Write to Life. Though my profession is a writer, it took me ten years after my torture to pick up a pen and be able to do that again. Torture is made to silence you but my writing proves that I am doing that opposite of that. Things get better.
“We are all housebound and the most difficult thing, again, is loneliness.”
Now is another trying time. Many people are isolated because of this pandemic that has taken – and is still taking – so many lives. We are all housebound and the most difficult thing, again, is loneliness.
Many of my neighbours are alone in our homes. It must be tough especially for children. They miss their school friends and teachers while parents miss their ‘me’ time because they have become teachers, helping their kids with their schoolwork.
Nevertheless, we have to be strong and follow what the medical professionals are telling us to do. I know they are looking for ways to eradicate this virus so that we can get back to our usual lives and return to ourselves.
It has made us afraid, but when we wake up every morning, we can pinch ourselves, laugh and do funny dances because we are alive! I know from my experiences that no matter how bad things get, we will get through it.
Jade Jackson is a journalist and refugee
Refugee Week, the UK’s largest festival celebrating the contribution of refugees, takes place on 15-21 June 2020. Refugee Week is a partnership project coordinated by Counterpoints Arts. For more information on Refugee Week and to get involved, visit refugeeweek.org.uk
Useful websites and helplines
Mind, open Monday to Friday, 9am-6pm on 0300 123 3393.
Samaritans offers a listening service which is open 24 hours a day, on 116 123 (UK and ROI - this number is FREE to call and will not appear on your phone bill).
CALM (the Campaign Against Living Miserably) offer a helpline open 5pm-midnight, 365 days a year, on 0800 58 58 58, and a webchat service.
The Mix is a free support service for people under 25. Call 0808 808 4994 or email help@themix.org.uk
Rethink Mental Illness offers practical help through its advice line which can be reached on 0300 5000 927 (Monday to Friday 10am-4pm). More info can be found on rethink.org.