Locked Down

In mid March our world changed, possibly for ever. It’s inconceivable to think of a time before lockdown, but a mere two months ago we were still accepting trips to the cinema, or a coffee shop, or to work, as mundane pursuits, rather than the out of reach concepts they now exist as. There is a stark contrast between entering spring with all it’s connotations of rebirth and new beginnings, when compared to our newly imposed hibernation and ‘hunkering down’. The longer, sun filled days, as viewed from outside of our windows, present everything with a dream like glow. This is perhaps exacerbated by the days all rolling into one, with no discernible separation or sense of difference, whether it be Easter Sunday, May Bank Holiday, or merely a rainy Tuesday afternoon.

The current crisis obviously affects everyone across the globe, and my struggles or experiences are in no way comparable to those who are going out everyday and putting their lives on the line to help others. After all, I’m not being asked to go to war, I’m simply being asked to stay at home. However, I can only write about my own experiences and reflections, however incomparable they may be.

Lockdown has had a negative affect on me, even though my life hasn’t changed a great deal. Being a reserved person, I live in a kind of self-isolation anyway. I live alone, I don’t really go out socially, and tend to do most things on my own. In theory, the fact that I live this way should make this current situation easier to deal with, as this ‘new normal’ is effectively my ‘normal normal’. Especially as I’m in a privileged position of still being able to work, not having financial or housing issues, and being used to my own company.

However, it’s the mental effect that has hit me, rather than the physical or practical elements. Despite being relatively comfortable with my own company, and used to a fairly solitary life, this particular period of imposed isolation feels different. In the ‘pre coronavirus’ times my way of life was largely dictated by certain characteristics of the depression and anxiety that I live with, and which makes solitude a necessity rather than an ideal. It’s unfortunately the most realistic way for me to live in order in order to try and negate some of the associated issues and difficulties. On reflection, this new found enforced detachment, which most people are quite rightly finding so tough, has highlighted how debilitating I find my normal need for self-imposed isolation. The fact that I don’t have anything to miss, or anyone to be missed by, is a testament to how I’ve been unable to fill my life with things that would fall into those categories.

Working remotely has also had a significant impact. Work is, and has always been, my main form of social activity and chance to mix with people. Having had that removed has left a gaping hole, and closed a door that for my own benefit needs to be open. Whilst still working from home, and counting myself very lucky to be able to thanks to a supportive company, the actual physicality of going into the office and encountering many different people on a daily basis is no longer there. Although this daily engagement has been challenging over the years, especially at times when I have been at a low ebb and wanting to hide away from people rather than interact, it has also been vitally important to my development in the decade or so since moving to London. I worry that unlike riding a bike, this extended time away from that social interaction may require more than stabilisers to get back on the road again.

Another issue is a fear and aversion to change. Shying away from change is an effect, and coping method to deal with, the effects of anxiety. This incompatibility with change, combined with a tendency to dwell on the past with a sense of nostalgia, means that change is usually repelled rather than adopted. There is talk now of ‘things never going back to as they were’, and this concept conjours up a wistful longing for the past, and a painful uncertainty about the future, as well as tinges of sadness and regret.

Will things every be the same again? Maybe not. Do we know what the future is going to hold? Not really. Is that necessarily a bad thing? My head says no, my heart says yes. A rational person would say that this could act as a new start, and a fresh way forward, an opportunity to rewrite all of the regrets and past unhappiness, and a chance to cut down the vines of loneliness that have grown around me over the years. However, I’m not a rational person.