It’s been four months, almost to the day since I have been able to sit down with myself and really let myself feel all these feelings I have had to store away just so I can survive.
As we come to the halfway point of the summer that was never really a summer, I can feel the anxiety creeping up into my throat. Big decisions are around the corner, life changing decisions, and I have never felt more alone in my fight. I want to do what’s right, but how the hell am I supposed to know what the ‘right’ decision looks like? I want to protect my baby, that is always what is first in my mind, I want to keep him close to me, and shield him from the illness…and the madness. As we make it through with no cases since April I can’t help but feel, as we open our borders and our lives, the impending 2nd wave, and I feel sick.
The past four months have been.. difficult to say the least. I am doing my best to juggle it all – work, Seamus, staying healthy, staying mentally stable.. it’s proving to a be a lot harder than I had planned. I leave work in tears most days, my rational brain is telling me that keeping tight restrictions is keeping our people safe, but my bleeding heart feels so sad for the people unable to see and touch the ones they love. I find myself wishing that I had a hand to hold, someone to confide in, someone to help me through the hard days which are coming more often as our territory moves quickly towards phase three of reopening.
I find the people here… arrogant, cocky, and frankly disrespectful. I go to the store as little as I possibly can, when I do I wear one of the many masks that we own because of CF clinic; I follow the lines down the aisles, and keep my distance from the other patrons.. but looking around the other day I realized that I was alone. I was the only one wearing a mask, or paying attention to the arrows on the floor… I watched people stopping to hug friends like somehow we are immune to this fast moving, fast adapting virus.. like we have already made it out the other side..
I feel so alone.
I think to myself constantly ‘Am I the one that’s wrong? Am I overreacting?’, and then I remind myself that my CF mom gut has yet to be wrong. I can call a bug before he even coughs, hell, I can damn near name the bug before the swab comes back. The conversations in my head are those that I wish I had someone to bounce these thoughts off of, but always coming back to the fact that Seamus is not as healthy as he is due to luck. It’s been a long hard road, with healthy boundaries, being aware of threats, and being fucking diligent. Finding the balance between having a fairly ‘normal’ life, but also being honest about our situation; one bad bug, or bout of whooping cough or pneumonia, will knock us down a peg– that is at the front of my mind every single day.
And because, why the hell not throw another log on the fire, due to all of the worlds happenings, and my inability to control ANY of it, has my mental state turned upside down, and me grasping for anything I can control as I spiral down into what Anne of Green Gables would call ‘the depths of despair’. My roller coaster emotions have me moving rapidly between depressed days spent in bed, to manic days spent ripping apart an old motor home I bought us in hopes that putting it back together will help me feel like I somehow am also being put back together…
But up or down, every night I crawl into bed wishing that when I wake the next day that this nightmare will be over, and every morning I realize that there is no end in sight, and I am exhausted.
Sending light, love and strength to those that need it in this desperate time.