Today marks Day 14.
Two weeks ago, I spent the morning at my brother's working and doing some laundry (my dryer died months ago and I haven't bothered to replace it!). We listened to Council and ate pirogies drenched in sesame oil. And when my laundry had dried, we hugged each other and went our separate ways.
In the last two weeks I’ve encountered two other people in real life. Interestingly, all three of these events took place on Tuesdays.
Last week, we had a heavy, wet snowstorm that dropped 7 more centimetres than forecasted (for a total of 10). My neighbour kindly came over with her snowblower and made a big enough dent that I could get out, if I wanted or needed to. I didn’t.
Today, my friend dropped off a refill for Gertie. She knocked on the door and left the package on my doorstep. But I opened the door in time to have a quick chat from about 2 safe distances apart (about 10 feet, probably).
Aside from those two encounters, I’ve had plenty of chats online and over the phone with colleagues, friends and family. I workout every morning with my brother and his partner, and my friend and her partner. We do so, again, using an online video call platform. I’ve left my house once (this past Sunday for a quick drive), but didn’t see anyone. I see people walking by my house everyday, and an uncomfortable amount of cars on the road while I walk Gertie at ungodly hours of the morning and night.
If you’ve followed my journey over the past number of years, you will know I have struggled with depression and anxiety. Over the last year or so, I’ve been good, though. I’ve established a good routine that involves healthy eating, fitness, a great job and plenty of rewarding volunteer activities. But when I was told I would now be working from home and not to come into the office, my immediate thought was oh, this is not going to be good.
Week 1 went by pretty quickly. It was easy to stay home, because I had plenty of snacks and stuck to my routine, aside from physically going to work. Instead, I switch my PJ bottoms, drank an extra cup of coffee and tried my hardest to focus. But I will be honest, most of that week was a blur. I know I accomplished quite a bit, work-wise, yet I don’t really recall much.
Week 2 started with a clean outlook. The sun was shining on Monday morning, and I was ready to plow through the workload I planned to accomplish. I had a number of conference calls and webinars scheduled throughout the week, as well. In other words, I was busy. The snacks were running out, though, and my fitness schedule more than doubled what I would regularly do. Somehow, I lost 5lbs, despite eating 20 of the 32 donuts I made during the week!
Both weekends I’ve found hard. It’s where I notice the heaviness of the current situation more than other times. It’s when my brain goes into overdrive and risk of entering a very dark place is high. I try to keep busy and stay focused. I’ve actually been keeping up my work schedule, as much as possible, so that the routine remains in place. But it’s still a challenge. It’s hard being on my own...
And then Week 3 rolled around. I woke up Monday morning and my brain was in a fog. My body ached. I felt sad. I felt overwhelmed and helpless. My training has been in an action-based, helping-hand capacity, not to sit at home and hope for the best. I still rolled out of bed and worked out. I still did all the things I normally would, but I was definitely not present.
Tuesday (today) it was more of the same. Though my body hurt much less and I slept through the night, my brain was absent. I could barely focus on the exercise and standing up at the same time. It’s a weird thing to describe. I had a good work day and was productive, but I just felt off for most of it.
And then I heard the welcomed sound of a knock on the door. It was my friend making the drop. And to see her, and the reaction that followed caught me completely off guard. I was so overcome with emotion and overwhelmed by how long it had been already (and how grim the outlook for this period ending was), when she left, I burst into tears. I sobbed, uncontrollably, for a good 30 minutes. And it was an ugly, hyperventilating sob. Like high school girl just got dumped, teen movie cry.
I’ve felt like I’ve been holding things together pretty well. I’m fortunate that all my friends and family scattered all over the world are so far unaffected by this virus. Well, at least in terms of health. But I am constantly reminded of how privileged I am. Not just because I’m healthy, but because I (so far) remain employed. I can afford to stay home, because I can afford groceries that will sustain me longer than I would typically shop. I have clean water. I have heat and electricity and internet. I’m still connected to the world around me, but there’s an odd sense of being disconnected. I cannot explain it.
Yet despite all of this, I am not filled with anxiety related to the virus, itself. I still see it in practical, scientific terms from my perspective of climate change. I continue to remain accepting of the fact that I will likely loose people I love in the coming months. And while, yes, it will be sad to experience that loss of life, when looking at the greater good, I’m not swayed on my belief that we need to lessen the number of people on this planet. I am focused on this fact, which helps me to stay calm and rational. The numbers do not scare me. They do not incite fear or panic. They just make wonder, how much longer am I going to be stuck here?
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