How I made depression work for me.

In May 2020, I walked out of the psychiatric ward and into lockdown. 

Weeks prior, in a white and sterile doctor’s office, the words I’d wanted to say came out: I was thinking of ending things. This was all before the pandemic was really happening. It didn't matter how it would happen, just that it shouldn’t happen by my hand. Walk off the top of my building and let gravity do the rest. Make a wrong turn on the U-bahn,  and walk into a train. Take all the pills in my flat and fall into a deep, deep slumber. These sorts of thoughts paralysed me till I couldn't function anymore, so the police came and within the hour escorted me to hospital.

They gave me my first face mask, and told me not to touch it so often. That ruins the protection they said. An exasperated doctor said, in a consultation room who’s red paint had mottled the colour of rust, that there was room for me. There was a lone clinical room at the end of a hallway with an empty bed inside and when I lay down limp and prone, wanting to be forgotten and to be cared for and to hold the world at bay, even for a few hours.

Nobody on the ward, not the nurses or the porters or the other patients really spoke English. And I only spoke to a psychiatrist for twenty minutes every other day. The worst part wasn't the loneliness: it was the ward had an effective treatment. You see, they keep the good stuff, the pills that actually work, behind lock and key. These aren't your run of the mill SSRIs. No, they're more potent than that. They're your opiates and your barbiturates, and your lithiums and your benzos. They're the drugs which really sort out your head. You’re given them and it’s like clouds have broken in the curdled sky of your emotions. The thing they show you is that it's all in your head, everything you think about yourself, other people, even the world. It's all made up. And whatever you're doing, you're doing it to yourself.

I was in no danger to myself, nor anyone else, and just needed a break, right? All the doctors judged correctly, that my condition would improve with treatment and in time. So, after the pills had worked their magic, they left me to YouTube videos and the books I brought and eventually they let me out.

Around me in lockdown, other people got around to finishing a PhD they’d put off, or take up a hobby like woodworking or needlework, or got around to eating healthy and getting in shape, or finally reading Tolstoy or Kant or just spending time with children who would soon be all grown up. Wonderful and wholesome and fantastic things to spit spend your time on. I was just rattling around my head and really couldn't deal with all of that. Instead, I watched all of RuPaul’s Drag Race.

Not an episode here and there, or even just the good seasons. I didn't dip in like that. I watched all of it. All 12 American series, all five All Star Series, a;; three British series, and also the French, Dutch, Spanish, Italian, Filipino and Canadian franchises. Even RuPauls’ secret Drag Race, which really is a TV concept which doesn’t work. That’s 8 countries, 350 episodes, and 448 Queens.

Was it good of me? Was it a good use of time I have on God's earth? No. Did I learn a lot? Also no. I felt like a mess and that there was no place for me in the world. I was still suicidal, but I’m also a procrastinator. So killing myself was always the todo that got moved to tomorrow. In the still of the night in a hotel suite downtown, an email sent beforehand. A storm at a lake I swam in, I’d slip underwater. 

What can I say, I had a lot of free time. In the meantime, there was always Drag Race.

To bring you up to speed, RuPaul Drag Race is a reality TV show we're drag queens compete for fame, fortune, and the undying love and affection of middle aged gay men. The format of the show is simple. Each episode there's a mini challenge mini challenge, things like: who could do the best model photoshoot; a maxi challenge, like acting, improv sewing, recording a cover of a RuPaul song etc; a fashion show, and a lipstick elimination. Nobody watches the show for the challenges, instead they watch for the Queens.

Before Drag Race I'd met exactly one type of drag queen. They dress like a sexy version of your Nan, are caustically witty, and carry with them the air of a British summer holiday. Instead, America has taken drag in 100 different directions. There are pageant queens and comedy queens and Insta queens and dancing queens and even queens who can do it all. From all of this I learned that there's more than one way to be. But it was one queen I learned the most from.

Katya Zamolodchikova, born Brian Joseph McCook, is a Bostonian Queen, and the only reason to watch season seven. She didn't win, and the air kind of goes out the whole production when she's gone. So you've only got 11 episodes of that series to watch (and if a being honest, you can skip most of them and just watch Katya’s lip syncs - early in her life she was a gymnast so she’s incredibly flexible and she uses this when she dances so she's fun to watch). The series is painful. The other Queen's don't really have any charisma, and Katya - the only one who does - is all up in her head. Katya tried to make depression work for her.

What that means is that Katya is a nervous wreck throughout this series. She second guesses herself,  judges herself as inadequate, and has a genuinely terrible time on screen. She said as much, reflecting on the experience afterwards. So it was in fact merciful to see her go in episode 11. Katya returned for All Stars 2 (AS2) -  a series where we see Queens we like but didn't win get another shot at the crown. It's important to know that AS2 is absolutely the best Drag Race series, and if you only watch one, watch AS2.

Initially Katya made the same mistake she made on her first series. Despite evolving her drag, at the start she was still anxious and insecure about her place in the competition. She didn't believe she deserved to be there. She joked that she returned with a federal refundable prescription for Xanax. All of this landed her up for elimination in episodes 3 and episode 4. But she’d won episode 3, and that changed how she saw herself: despite losing twice in a row she believed she was a star. She took herself seriously. There was no self depreciation or comparison or avoidance in her speech. You could see the belief in the way she walked. Katya finally saw what everyone else saw.

Sitting in my apartment so the endless Berlin lockdown I saw Katya step into her right to live. A because of this I started to write the plays I wanted to see and to make the photos I wanted to make. I saw that I can be a mess but there's still a place for me in the world. A field perhaps. A comfy chair. Up some stairs, an empty room.