I’m having a great time

That’s what I said the night before lockdown began. Three weeks indoors, where I love to be? With wi-fi and the option to get groceries delivered to me? And with alcohol in the house? Please. I would be just fine. 

The first two weeks were so emotionally taxing that when the announcement of the extension was made, I was devastated. 

I was on the phone in tears, listing all the things that an extension would make difficult for me: more time in emotional distress, more time away from people who are important in my life, and, most concerning, more time not being able to actively pursue work opportunities.

But everyone is working from home, right? It’s business unusual and we’re all just rolling with it. Except I can’t roll very far because every day I see news about industries collapsing under the weight of the crisis. In those early weeks, two major publishing companies announced that they were closing down their magazine printing components. I never thought I would see the day Associated Media Publishing folded and, in a cruel twist, I had just sent my updated CV in for a job at Caxton Magazines a week earlier. 

I felt like all my opportunities were drying up. 

I still had two editing projects going on, which I had agreed to do just before lockdown. I appreciated those and projected that the income from them would keep me safe for a few weeks. Plus, I had some savings. 

There were positives. 

Each day, it became more difficult to see the positive side of things. 

Who will be hiring “when this is over”? Will I even really get paid for what I am doing now? What happens if I can’t earn a living to take care of myself? On one hand, I could take out another credit card (after I had finally managed to pay the current one off!), on the other, I could move back home. Two extremes, neither of them ideal. 

Will my mental health survive this? I was just getting into a routine with my therapist, and then that was taken away. I now had to stay indoors all day and entertain my own thoughts, sort through my worries on my own. (Therapists are an essential service, but at a time when going out is high risk I wanted to leave the house even less than I usually would.) 

It was terrible. By the time I finally made an appointment, seven weeks into the lockdown, I was a mess. I was having a crisis of identity, I was in a spiral about my ability to survive and take care of myself, I was not confident about any kind of future for myself, I was thinking, “what if this is the end?” far too many times a day… 

Questions that haunt me: “was I happy before?” “what meaningful thing/s have I done with my life?” “does anything really matter?” “will I ever be okay again?”

As the lockdown continues and everyone in the world tries not to contract a dangerous virus every time they go and buy bread, I continue to feel worried, disillusioned, sad and scared. 

There are YouTube videos and Netflix shows and WhatsApp chats every day. I am not, in the larger sense of the concept, alone in this. I have entertainment, I have friends and family, I have food, I have – on good days – my mind, I have my health. 

Apparently that’s all I need. Those are the things I am supposed to be exceedingly grateful for. 

And I am! If I didn’t have anyone to talk to about all this, I would probably have deteriorated a long time ago. (That’s probably when I would have chosen option two – run away home. In the end, no matter what you feel for your family, that’s who you would want to tell if you were completely falling  apart.)

But I supppose I am stubborn and I enjoy torturing myself because I am still not okay with what has been taken away or “postponed until whenever” because of the virus. What work could I be doing? What events would I have gone to? How much would we have enjoyed my two sisters’ graduation parties? Where would we have gone for birthday celebrations? 

I haven’t made any plans since March. I don’t know how to, anymore.

I’m not having any revelations about my future; I’m not feeling relaxed and energised; I’m not “enjoying a new perspective”. 

I’m just… here. 

I’m not kicking and screaming anymore. Now I’m just rocking back and forth, sometimes in the foetal position (I hardly ever leave my bed), trying to soothe myself but also trying to distract myself from this constant feeling of impending doom.