One was my mother in a posh independent living facility that basically shut down all of its communal spaces and cruise ship activities and severely limited access to people from outside the facility. Sure, we talked to her on the phone and such (FaceTime and zoom were beyond her ability), and visited as we could, but she went from having a full daily life to one where she was alone, in her room, essentially having meals pushed under the door. She became unable to manage meds by herself, and the facility limited access to help. She went bananas, and I won't go into all the specifics, but suffice to say she shortened her life by a handful of years, though it was not an overt suicide.
The second was a guy that lives up in the Colorado mountains. He was divorced, lived alone. Spent a lot of his time holding down a stool at a bar, and was a funny dude, until that went away when our town shut down hard. He was stuck there in his cabin with little interaction like my mom. He committed suicide barely a month into lockdowns. Sure, you can say that he was at risk anyway given his life context, but he was hanging on. But in the isolation, he decided the best path forward was to eat a bullet.
Both lived alone, both relied on people outside of their personal dwelling for human connection, both fared terribly during their period of isolation, which is a vastly different experience than that of someone who is isolating with a full house. Going to SuperCuts, eating at Chilis, shooting the shit with locals at the bar, playing bridge with the other matrons on your floor may seem insignificant to you. I mean, it did to me. To some people in a vastly different living context, these insignificant social interactions are what keeps them sane on a daily basis.