At some point we will be coerced into believing that going back into society as more cautious engagers will be the appropriate course of action in this fight against the pandemic with no verified cure.
For some of us who were already struggling with mental woes, the notion of returning back to the previous state of existence that wasn’t so great, expectedly resurfaces feelings of dread and even hopelessness.
The tricky thing about depression is how it mercilessly sneaks up on you without a good reason for the brutal intrusion.
It would be so convenient if there was a method to the madness (no pun intended), but for longtime sufferers who are forced into an indefinite lull, there is an established awareness of how a purely decent day can suddenly crumble into the dust that can’t be swept away.
The horrible and devastating ramifications of COVID-19 goes beyond the acute fear of testing positive and possibly dying. Or the very real threat of infection via the roster of idiotic and selfish Americans who are determined to insert themselves in high risk situations for the thrill of faux-activism.
There is great trepidation about the stormier future that awaits when you take the pulse of what life was like before wearing masks and gloves became the compulsory gear for restrictive outdoor activities.
Heavier days that feel like I’m carrying around a bag of salt, take me on mind-numbing excursions in my wearied brain.
I actually contemplate how much better it would be if we could stay hidden for the rest of the year, instead of the daunting task of surveying the rubble of unknowns that have gotten even more treacherous over the last month.
We hear so much about the magical day when we get to go back to work and start accumulating the biweekly rewards for playing a vital role in keeping our robust economy in great shape.
America is the ultra-wealthy slave master, relentlessly targeting the section of the population more likely to succumb to the lashings of responsibilities that must be obliged before those measly checks get deposited.
Imagine that we got $1200 as part of the relief fund from the same whack ass government that sent a stimulus check to the Los Angeles Lakers of all places because billion-dollar enterprises really need to stay afloat during these torrid times.
My mental state zigzags from “okay” to “shit!”
And while this national health emergency is a bone of contention for eager-minded hustlers who are still on their game and can’t wait to hit the ground running once self-isolation is a done deal — I’m stuck at the stage where indifference is the only language that registers.
Mental health experts are working overtime to spread the words that comfort and empower, but the truth is that now is the honeymoon phase, because once the streets of America become flooded, erratic emotions will settle into the unsolvable quandary of what it means to be happy.
Will Our Sadness Disappear When We’re Back To “Normal?”
It would be nice to place our bets on such a supreme and promising declaration but unfortunately mood swings don’t respond on command, even when we beg our brain cells to get into formation in recognition of revised statuses.
The main takeaway is that somber periods in our lives may heighten our tendencies towards bleak altitudes but when the sun comes out, it doesn’t equal a cheerier disposition.
It just means we can applaud the good news and secretly hope the day comes when we can feel that wave of relief in the same way that blesses our counterparts.
Before our reality was turned upside down, I had ambitious plans for a complete “fuck you” to self-pity and the warm embrace of each item on my strategized itinerary.
I was securing the activation around the time that breaking news broke the unfathomable and shut it everything down with foreboding swiftness.
My unsteady optimism has given way to utter disillusionment and I’m certain that it won’t improve when the keys of cities are ceremoniously returned to inhabitants.
The job market will be messier, and the routes to what we’ve always banked on as functionality will be clogged and torturously slow-moving.
Getting back to business sounds grand for those who can afford the privilege, in the same way as before.
We are going to need lots of help for what lies ahead.
The big blow to dreams will remain painfully hollow after the mandatory rules are relaxed, and re-assimilation will definitely deepen wounds that need to heal before infection sets in.
The new normal will be a shock to the system for many, and hopefully we can begin the process of healing that will extend past these days of misleading bliss and misplaced excitement.