I cried this morning, when I woke from another restless night’s sleep. I thought ahead to the day before me, so much like the day before, and the day before that. This seemingly endless groundhog day is getting to me, it is wearing me down and making me feel worthless, like there is not much point. I feel so tired all the time, not just tired in my mind, or my body, but right down to my bones. I find my energy is gone every day. I want to be able to workout, so that I can calm my restless mind, so I can make my body feel the good type of tired it used to, from exercising, but I can’t motivate myself to do it.
Yesterday I cried, when a song came on that made me remember a better time. After it finished, I played it again, just to feel something other than the numb feeling that has taken over since lockdown began. I cried again when I spoke to my therapist that afternoon, but I did not feel shame. It is good to cry sometimes, to let out all of the pain. I tend not to reach out to friends, or family, because I don’t want to feel a burden, and after all, they have their own troubles to contend with, their own groundhog days to live. Instead I put a brave face on, I tell them I am ok, that things are fine. It is easier that way.
I cried last week when I fainted and hit my head, giving me a concussion, but not tears of sadness, of relief that it meant my mum was able to visit, to help with the children whilst I was on bed rest. Before then, I hadn’t been able to see my mum inside the house for months. It was incredible to be able to talk face to face, even if we did wear masks to keep ourselves safe.
I cried at the weekend, when we sat down to a Sunday roast, because the weekends no longer feel like a break, being confined to our house, to those four walls, seven days a week. We can’t even visit my favourite place, the beach, because it feels too far to travel, despite it being only ten minutes in the car. Instead we walk the same route, around the roads where we live. I don’t walk every day now, because it just feels bleak pounding the pavements now.
I cried when I realised that there is no end in sight. That covid has been here for a year and we still don’t have the solution to make life go back to how it was, to being able to socialise with the ones we love, to being able to lead a normal life again. I cried again when I realised that it was the first time I had cried about covid for a long time, not because it isn’t awful, but because I have become accustomed to it, to the bad news, to the bleak outlook, to this new existence.
I cried two weeks ago, whilst struggling to motivate two children to do their school work, when the truth was that none of us really wanted to be doing it. The children, as much as they deny it, miss being at school, at being with a teacher who trained to teach, who has the patience that I simply lack, the knowledge that I have either forgotten, or never learnt myself at school (fronted adverbials, anyone?).
I cried last month, whilst struggling with a lack of sleep from all the vivid dreams I was having, when I woke in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep, when I felt so alone in that moment, despite being in a house full of people. I looked outside into the darkness and felt it swallow me up.
I cried last year, countless times, throughout the twelve months that will forever go down in history now. I lived the rollercoaster with you all, I felt the ups and downs. I enjoyed the extra time spent with my little family, the extra time at home to read, write and relax. That first lockdown feels like some sun drenched dream now, hazy already with the fog of time.
I cried just now, typing this post, my fingers cascading over the keys in my hurry to get it all out, to put it down before it left my mind, as I feel so many of my thoughts do these days. I cried and I smiled, because it felt good to get it out, to share my thoughts with whoever wants to listen, to others who might feel the same.
I cried this morning… and that is ok. This time is hard, it is tough, it is something nobody expected to be living through. Life right now is monotonous, it is a struggle to find the positives, amongst the news headlines, the constant speculation of when this will end, but something which has kept me going, even in those darkest times, is the knowledge that we are going through this together, even whilst apart. Things will improve, maybe not today or even this week, this month, but they will, slowly improve. Until then, know that there are always people to talk to, I am not a burden to those who love and care about me, and you aren’t either.
