The days are bright and long, but the isolation is wearing on us. I find myself more and more alone in a room with the curtains drawn. Perhaps some part of me hopes that this is a dream, that if I let myself fall asleep I will awake back into the normal world. The world before we went into isolation. The world before we awoke en masse to the pain of the world.
But that is just it. We are awake. This is the world. It is messy and constantly changing, and life is an unexpected journey. You never know when you will end up taking that one step that leads you further from your comfortable home than ever before. But this is it. This is the journey.
I am grateful.
I am grateful for the connections I’ve forged over the years and that I have tempered and strengthened in the last few months. For friends, present and far away, who have made my isolation less isolating. For conversation and shared cups of tea, if only over a screen rather than a table.
And I am grateful for friends who remind me of the light in my life. Of the small sparks and glimmers that shine through. Of cups of tea providing a sanctuary during the day. Of stolen moments of conversation in the early mornings or late nights.
Thank you to all my friends, whether I’ve known you since childhood or have never met you in person, you have made the last few months more than bearable, but special and enjoyable.
* * *
This is a positive post, but I haven’t been feeling very positive lately. Perhaps some of you have noticed that my posting has become slightly erratic, though I do enjoy taking pictures and having tea, so I have tried to keep up with Instagram at least. But I feel less than inspired much of the time, and even less motivated to create what I am inspired to do. Blaming the isolation is easy to do, but I think my depression is starting to flare off and on, like a beacon warning me of something. Sharp rocks on the edges of my life.
Ironically, part of me feels even less isolated than ever since we started staying home. I’m conversing and connecting through social media in a way I’ve never done before, as though I’ve traded the superficial contacts of my normal day for a more complex connection that spans the globe. I have people checking on me besides my mother. And people to share in my joys.
But depression doesn’t care if you have friends. It doesn’t care if you have things you love to do. It takes them away and lies to you and tells you they don’t mean anything. But having my friends, virtual or otherwise, helps me shine a light on those lies, dissipating them with support and love.
So have a cup of tea and let the light shine through. And don’t listen to depression’s lies.