We’re heading into a lockdown for the weekend. It starts this midnight and continues till 5.00 am on Monday. That’s what the Government had said but I refuse to take that without a pinch of salt and a shot of Hydroxychloroquine, given what happened the last time we were ordered into the equivalent of house arrest, for me at least.
The city fell weeks ago despite the authorities not acknowledging it and I’ve spent the same amount of time planning for eventualities in terms of supplies, etc. More importantly, I’ve been trying to prepare myself for the immense mental challenge it will be for me, to stay sane without real human contact and all those other endorphin-producing activities we engage in as a part of normal life.
I prayed. I fucking prayed for the second time this year. The first and only other time being for a friend going into a surgery a few months ago.
The only other times I pray are when those dearest to me are flying. Sorry, God. Please send your complaints to email@example.com.
My last post was a result of the apprehension peaking and the one before that was a recollection of the last lockdown experience and what happened during it. So I’ve started to think about the things ahead. The motions, emotions and horrors I’ll be confronted with in the coming days. To make things easier and somewhat amusing I’ve begun imagining them as people – women in complex relationships with my mind.
I’ve known her the longest. She’s been with me for nearly 20 years. We’re like one of those couples who have been together so long that we’re starting to look like each other. She has a key to the house and waltzes in whenever she pleases, rolling around in my bed, walking in while I have a shower, wearing my clothes, commanding me to either go silent or raise my voice.
Her favourite topic is: Trust. Her favourite questions are: “Was that about you?” and “Will anyone care?”
Anxiety is light on her feet and unpredictable. She creeps up on me and wraps her arms around my shoulder, whispering uncertainties and feeling the chips with her fingers, brushing her face against mine, telling me to open the door for her friend – our friend.
Always dressed in black and suggestive, with an affinity for nostalgia and our past, I’ve known her since my father passed away 15 years ago. She drains the energy and hope out of the room, daring me to take a drink she slipped a roofy into. She has dreamy eyes and husky voice which on nights she’s most present, suggests I give up on this lousy existence.
Depression loves to reminisce about everything from traumatic incidents with people in the past to even something as little as how we had to when we were young, warm water with our mouths in the nights to take a wash and not wake up with a cold the next morning.
On her worst nights, our worst nights, she waits for the inebriation to set in and gets on her knees, with her hands on my thighs, telling me her ideas on how she and I can run away together to a place where I won’t feel this heavy, feel the inadequacy, remember the regrets, feel the disappointment of waking up. Depression revels in telling me stories about our past but is terrible at keeping me awake long enough to follow her advise. I hope she never does. Not because I disagree with her, but because I have promises to keep and duties to perform for loved ones.
I don’t hate her nor do I love her. She loves sitting next to me from time to time, encouraging me to dive deeper into the things I’m already thinking about. Sometimes, she sits clutching my hands and other times, resting her head on my shoulder. Melancholy’s touch has a peculiar way of making me feel like I’m different, special because I can sense and feel the world’s pain.
She embraces me and argues that I need to learn to just have her on my mind; in my life; because as a hyper-empath, I’d rather be in the company of her sophistication and reminders than the other two. I agree with her most times and unlike the others, I hope she never leaves, because not being able to feel and think like I do would make me ordinary.
Of course I’ve only started thinking of all this in this manner recently. Not because I think it’s interesting, but because I’m trying to fight the dread and thoughts that the loneliness of the lockdown will bring should it go beyond Monday.
My mind has more squatters but these three linger and intrude the most. I hope they don’t visit this time around. As much.
I hope they’ll be lenient. I really hope those with similar mental issues can get through it and that those who can in terms of rations, etc., will help those who can’t.