Observations From A Planet in Crisis
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I made the mistake of thinking I was back to normal. Because I could sit and write for 8 hours a day and go to the grocery store without panicking, I thought I had this pandemic licked. My life was normal (ish). I had a routine. It was boring and driving me nuts, but it kept me moving through the days. And then something unexpected happened and instead of responding the way I do under normal circumstances, I lost my shit. Everything fell apart. The wolves I had trained myself to ignore were still at the door, hangrier than ever.
I just didn’t realize how close to the edge I was. You do the same thing every day for weeks on end, it normalizes. Your brain gets used to it, even if the whole world is burning down around you. Which it is right now. It just is. We carve out little pockets of normalcy and hide out there. This is good. Do this if you can. But don’t beat yourself up if your hidey hole gets blown open like a house of straw. It’s not your fault if you’re freaking, seemingly out of the blue. Don’t worry about why this week you’re utterly distraught over statistics and facts that floated through your brain with very little impact last week.
Tis the nature of where we’re at.
I like to get all Big Picture-y on tough situations, and I haven’t been able to do that lately. I haven’t been able to find the positive cosmic view of things. Instead, I go to the grocery store and get anxious when someone isn’t wearing a mask, or lose my cool at the sight of a Trump sign in a yard. Contact with friends and family is fraught with the worry that someone is carrying the virus. I see pictures of people wearing PPE, I start crying. Discarded masks by the side of the road, crying. Even just the letters PTSD in my Instagram feed make me weepy. It’s more than my coping mechanisms can handle. And then, injury to insult, I get pissed at my coping mechanisms as well. I should be taking this bizarre interlude to eat healthy, meditate, and figure out how to save the world instead of binge eating in front of my third viewing of GBBS!
I’m seriously struggs to func...And you know what? This is the norm right now. Did you see Dolly Parton make Colbert cry? Everybody is on the verge of tears these days. If you find yourself in a similar dingy with no oars and a rogue wave coming at you, at the very least DO NOT BEAT YOURSELF UP FOR IT.
It’s been long enough that the traumatic effects of this thing are showing up. But none of us have gotten the respite of a return to normalcy, and the support systems around us are as maxed out as we are. It’s unprecedented, and it makes sense if you want to curl up and cry all day long. Even though we’re kind of used to it. Even though there are routines in place. Even though some kids are back in school and some adults are going out and drinking margaritas like it isn’t happening.
Again, don’t beat yourself up. And ask for help, even though everybody everybody everybody is needy right now. All the more reason to go for it. We’ve all always been needy, but tricked ourselves into believing otherwise. Let that delusion go. Have you read Alok Vaid-Menon’s explanation for why they say “love and need you?” The only way out is through...and the only way through is connection. Sometimes it’s a shit show, sometimes it’s an Alok poem or a Dolly Parton ballad. However it’s manifesting right now, we’re in it together.
Lately, when things get rough, I’ve been imagining myself in a big white dinosaur egg of protection. Something prehistoric for endurance, and tough enough to withstand baby T-Rexs (and white men without college degrees). I imagine myself camped out in there with all the fluffy pillows, my kitty, and a skylight with a view of the stars and planets and other far away magical untraumatized things. This might sound like escapism...and it is. So? Whatever it takes to calm your sympathetic nervous system down is legit.
In sum: don’t beat yourself up, you are not alone, work your connections, and, if needed, hide out in a dinosaur egg with a skylight (or any other safe haven your imagination can conjure).