I created a drag persona to get me through quarantine

I’ve never received a text from the U.K. government before, but on Mar. 23, 2020, my phone lit up to the tune of a lockdown announcement. Sitting in my one-bed flat alone, I wondered how I was going to get through the next three weeks; little did I know I was looking at three and a half months instead. 

The next morning, after crying in the shower, I fed my puppy and buried my head in my hands. Going out, especially eating out, was still a new venture for me, and it was fast becoming my lifeline. With that option taken away, I could see myself sliding back into depression and crippling anxiety.

A few months before the novel coronavirus stopped everything, I’d finally discovered RuPaul’s Drag Race. I’d never watched it before—I’d previously convinced myself I wasn’t a reality TV fan. But I fell in love with the fashion, the beauty and ultimately the confidence that the artists gained through doing drag. Drag Race opened the door for me to experiment with my appearance: If a man could dress as a woman live on TV and look good doing it, there was no reason I couldn’t wear what I wanted. I bought an electric blue wig and came up with a name: Mairy Dilk. 

As I watched Drag Race, Mairy became more concrete in my mind: A salty, disco-inspired character who adored aqua and gold. Drag Race inspired a self-confidence that I’d never had before. I discovered an uninhibited side of myself that loved cracking filthy jokes and telling it like it is. Drag Race gave me permission to let myself out of the carefully controlled box I usually live in. Mairy was everything I wasn’t—sassy, visually loud, unafraid to make explicit comments. She’s also naturally happy, whereas I suffer from depression and anxiety. Getting to know Mairy took me out of myself and into a world of bright blue glitter. 

By drawing on Mairy’s sass, I had the guts to don a bright blue wig and attempt to walk in heels. When I’m down or I feel anxious, I just remind myself of Mairy, and think, “What would Mairy say?” The answer is usually something like, “Awesome! Wear it!” or “When’s the next party?” I think Mairy Dilk is who I really am inside: Happy and confident, the me I would be without my mental health issues (on a good day, I’m actually a fairly happy person, and it doesn’t take much to make me smile). Mairy is that piece of my soul I feel like I’ve lost to depression. 

I don’t think there’s anyone with mental health problems who hasn’t felt shoved backwards in their recovery since COVID-19 appeared. I would cry in the shower in the mornings (I’m not normally a crier, so the tears always shocked me), and I felt like a huge weight was pressing down on me every day. As anyone suffering with depression will tell you, the things you love quickly stop meaning anything, and it becomes almost impossible to do them. From my experience of depression, the only way out is to fight like hell to do them anyway.

I love my job as a writer, but lockdown restrictions took so much away from it for me that I ended up just getting through the days again. As the evenings came around, I’d groan and wish I didn’t have to bother with my drag plans. Sometimes, depression won, and I didn’t dress up, but sometimes I won, and I had my drag nights. 

They would almost always start with me dragging myself into the bathroom, running the bath and selecting a bath bomb. Maybe something pink and glittery, or something milky that feels amazing on my skin or something fizzy and bright blue, like Mairy. My waterproof disco ball would be flickering across the walls, and the music would be turned up full. My baths would cheer me up enough that I could do my makeup, step into my heels and become Mairy Dilk. As Mairy, I’d pour myself a girlie drink and dance around my bedroom, pulling sassy poses, lip-syncing to Shirley Bassey or ABBA. One of Mairy’s favourites is “Money, Money, Money,” so I’d imagine Mairy as a huge star at celebrity parties, and let myself fall into a fantasy world for a few hours. At first, I felt silly, but I gave myself permission to be over the top and camp. I’m gay, and drag is by definition over the top, so I decided my drag nights were perfectly acceptable. Turning the music up and posing in heels was my way of celebrating my triumph over depression. 

As a pretty ordinary woman, I find that drag helps me show off my queerness in a way you wouldn’t usually see. The drag world lets me feel gayer, and I get to express my queer identity in a blaze of colour. After all, the queer family is full of colour and glamour. Mairy is my way of saying, “Look world, I’m gay, and I love it!” It feels good to express my queerness in vivid blue and disco lights. 

Due to my anxiety, I hadn’t ventured out much before the pandemic hit, and meeting new people was something I had just begun to work on. There aren’t many places to meet other queer people where I live, and I find online events difficult. I can’t hear very well over Zoom or Skype, and big events like Virtual Pride are still poorly captioned. Group chats leave me out of the conversation, and I don’t make friends as easily as hearing participants do. 

Connecting with my own queerness gave me a lifeline when I couldn’t connect with anyone else. I found some sense of community within myself. I could love myself, I could be my own best friend. It didn’t help with the loneliness, but it made it easier to bear for a little bit longer. 

However, with my newfound love of drag and my sexuality, I cannot wait for the next season of Pride. Falling in love with myself as a queer person has given me a huge confidence boost, and I can’t wait to show Mairy off somewhere. Hopefully, once the world reverts to something like normal, I’ll head to a queer club or coffee evening. I’d love to see Drag Race on Tour, or catch something that Tayce from Drag Race UK is doing, since we live in the same city. Dancing about in your bedroom with your makeup a bit wonky is one thing; taking newbie drag out into the world is still scary. But I finally feel ready to get out there and find my people.