Diana Thomas’s transgender diary

The prefix ‘pan’ derives from the neuter form of ‘pas’, the Greek word for ‘all’. That’s why a pantheon is a temple for all the gods, a panacea is a cure for all ills and a pandemic is a disease that infects us all.

Covid-19 is thus a very odd sort of pandemic, since, as I write these words, 99.5 per cent of the British population has not tested positive for the coronavirus, 99.94 per cent of us have not, thankfully, perished of the disease and 99.6 per cent of NHS hospital beds are NOT occupied by Covid patients.

But there is another plague stalking the land, caused less by Covid-19 itself than our societal reaction to its threat. It is a plague of loneliness, unhappiness, depression, sadness, and isolation. I suspect it has infected far more people than the virus has ever done. And while I have never tested positive for C-19, I’ve certainly got a bad case of those bitter lockdown blues.

Everyone has different reasons to be unhappy. My deepest wounds date back six years to the collapse of my marriage and the fracturing of my family. This is a subject from which I have, for all sorts of reasons, stayed clear in this column. But it is a statement of fact to say that I am currently not in contact with two of my three adult children, nor do I know where they live. It is also a statement of the blindingly obvious to say that I am devastated by that loss. The advice I get from both friends and professionals is that there is nothing I can do to change things, except wait for time to work its healing magic and try to lead the best life I possibly can in the meantime. I’ve done my very best to heed that advice.

The two homes in which I’ve lived have been made as beautiful, welcoming and spiritually healing as I can manage, filled with beloved pictures, fresh flowers and, whenever possible, dear friends. I learnt to cook, so that I could feed myself healthy meals from fresh ingredients. I found a yogastudiotocareformy body and soul. I joined the choir that has brought me so much friendship and happiness, as well as indulging my lifelong delight in a good sing-song.

And, of course, I transitioned. Now, one might imagine that this process would be so stressful and even traumatic that it would only make my life harder. I certainly feared so. That was one of the many reasons why I fought against it for so long. In fact, the very opposite has happened. Transition has been a huge force for healing and happiness in my life.

Even if it involves a lot of procedures that are as painful as they are expensive, the process of self-transformation got me out of the house and resulted in, if not friendships, then positive relationships with all the women, and the odd man, who have helped me along the way. They have invested their time and care in me, and I know, because they tell me, that my progress makes them feel great about the work they do. And that, in turn, makes me happy too.

And all of this has been torn apart by a societal response to Covid19, which more than one psychiatrist of my acquaintance has referred to as mass hysteria.

We live in a world that has institutionalised terror and pathologised friendship, human company and love. The choir, which provided such a blessed weekly sanctuary, has been silenced, for fear that the act of singing is a harbinger of death. My friends are confined to their bubbles, some still afraid to leave them for the trips to museums or jolly lunches we once loved. Therapists of all kinds are only now being allowed to return to their work.

Hugs and kisses – those fleeting moments of human contact that mean so much to those of us who live and work alone – have been banished. Loneliness is compulsory. Smiles must now be hidden behind masks.

The fragile walls that I built to protect myself from pain have been taken down, brick by brick. I feel more isolated and vulnerable with every passing day. And I feel absolutely certain that I am not alone in this desperate loneliness.

A plague of unhappiness, depression and isolation I suspect has infected more people than the virus