Loneliness is a serious hazard to our health

Iwas kindly invited the other day to a housewarming for a friend I know in a roundabout sort of way and his flatmates, whom I do not know at all. I arrive an hour late. Downstairs is already pumping, a roar of voices.

The guests are all around the same age as my friend – mid-20s. All impeccably groomed, radiantly youthful.

Before setting foot in the door, I freeze. Butterflies rise up, panic spreads across my chest.

All of a sudden, my mind races. ‘‘What can I possibly say to these glorious young people? When they see I’m not drinking, will I start off by telling them I’m an alcoholic? As for what I do for a living, will I explain how I don’t strictly have a job because of my regular bouts with depression? At what point will I reveal I’m single and childless?’’

I feel impossibly old and pathetic. My being there would be a buzzkill for these kids. They shouldn’t be exposed to such weapons-grade jadedness.

So I up and leave. Within 10 minutes, I’m back on my sofa, scrolling through streaming services. Loneliness can be habitforming.

Embarrassed by what I’ve done, I text an apology to the party’s host, claiming, somewhat truthfully, an onset of nausea.

I guess you could call it an attack of social anxiety if giving it a classification helps. In any event, it’s a symptom of depression in my case, not a thing unto itself.

And yet my mood is stable. I’m not depressed. If I had been, there no way known I would have RSVPed to a housewarming, let alone shown up. It’s been 100 days and counting since my last episode – an especially long and harrowing one. So the compulsion to leave the party came out of the blue.

My reluctance to enter that room didn’t come from feeling depressed, but out of a sudden fear that I have become depressing – as if my mere presence would cast a pall over proceedings.

Of course, this is silly, toxic thinking, not to mention the height of solipsism, to believe my attendance at a party is going to have any discernible effect on anyone.

I could have glided from kitchen to living room and back, sipping Diet Coke, trading light-hearted banter, slipping out the back door unnoticed a respectable hour or two later. It would have been perfectly civil, and nobody would particularly lament having met me.

But these straightforward social rituals become progressively harder, even in between lengthy spells of depression and isolation. The benefits of social interaction are outweighed by the illusory sense of security that comes from being alone.

Loneliness, commonly understood as an emotional response to the perceived mismatch between the amount of personal contact a person wants and the amount they have, is a growing public health concern. According to a report last month from the US National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine, ‘‘strong evidence suggests that, for older adults, social isolation and loneliness are associated with an increased likelihood of early death, dementia, heart disease, and more’’.

The evidence is startling. Feeling lonely can pose a bigger risk for premature death than smoking or obesity, according to researchers at Brigham Young University.

Since 2011, the Campaign to End Loneliness in the UK has been educating decisionmakers, ‘‘communicating with, convincing and persuading those who make choices about health and care spending to tackle and prevent loneliness’’. The Australian Loneliness Report, the biggest survey of its type released in 2018, estimated that one in four Australians experience loneliness, concluding that ‘‘higher levels of loneliness are associated with higher levels of social interaction anxiety, less social interaction, poorer psychological wellbeing and poorer quality of life’’.

Having waded through a small library of reports into the subject, it’s clear we’re currently better at identifying the problem than we are at solving it. The recommended solutions – ‘‘host a morning tea!’’ – seem hopeful at best.

That said, it’s a tough challenge – GPs and nurses aren’t trained to identify and treat loneliness, even if they could. And, for the most part, people experiencing loneliness no doubt face other physical and mental health challenges, including depression, anxiety and substance abuse. It’s impossible to treat one without the other.

For me, it’s about consciously retraining myself as a social animal. Depressive episodes leave wounds that need tending long after the fog has lifted, not least the instinct to hide and survive.

Within 10 minutes, I’m back on my sofa, scrolling through streaming services. Loneliness can be habitforming.