Lockdown Loneliness
Loneliness is something most of us in the disabled community contend with on a far too regular basis. The unprecedented circumstances we’re currently all facing with covid-19 however has felt like taking a magnifying glass to that particular feeling. And it’s not just that it’s magnifying the feeling of loneliness itself but the awareness of a gulf that exists between those of us experiencing it to this degree for the first time, and the rest of us.
It hit me hardest during my first week of self-isolation. The sudden realisation that when all this is over and some sort of “normal” life resumes, people will be back out there, going to work, socialising and filling their days again. As things currently stand though, this is my normal. And I’m really lucky – I’m pretty mobile these days, actively job-hunting and looking forward to changes that will soon see me less housebound. But that day the weight of the realisation that this is actually all pretty standard for me was crushing. I cried like I haven’t in a long time at the realisation that this has been my life for so long that I genuinely thought it was normal – it took a catastrophic pandemic to change how the rest of the world was living for me to see that.
Over the years I’ve heard and read endless variations of “It must be great to have all that free time” and if anything positive can come of the circumstances we currently find ourselves in (and it must), it is that people realise how totally wide of the mark that idea is. Now that so many are facing endless days stuck at home, they are realising that actually the novelty of all that time soon wears off. There are only so many books to read, tv shows and films to watch, hobbies to take up and educational opportunities to take advantage of. Factor in that those of us for whom this is normal are also managing varying combinations of pain, mobility and fatigue and the reality of a housebound disabled person’s day-to-day existence starts to form into something actually comprehensible for those who have never lived it.
Photo by Mohammad Mahdi Samei on Unsplash
Aside from that crushing day when I felt like this would be my life forever, the week since my self-isolation ended has in some ways been just as hard as the fourteen days that came before. Once the lockdown came, knowing I had to stay at home for my own, and others’, safety was completely do-able. I’ve technically been out of isolation though for ten days now and they’ve been tough, physically and mentally. Between going to the supermarket on my first day of ‘freedom’ and attempting a Joe Wicks ‘PE lesson’ I ended up writing most of last week off due to a massive increase in pain and decrease in mobility, and any improvements this week have been small and slow. Too much time stuck on the sofa or bed and the boredom and frustration rapidly kicked in. I realised how much I rely on little trips out of the house for social interaction. Although I’ve lived here for eight and a half years now I’ve resisted putting down roots and making friends locally because I’ve always known I intend to leave. Initially I wasn’t even able to leave the house without a lot of forward planning and support anyway so socialising just wasn’t on my radar. When I did my postgrad I made friends there, which was lovely and most of us are still in touch with each other but inevitably people moved back to their hometowns or onto new places for work. Keeping in touch via texts, whatsapp, emails, skype or whatever other tech we have at our disposable is perfectly normal to me: it’s how I have maintained the many wonderful friendships I have. But this new way of living has opened my eyes to how much I have come to rely on nipping out to a coffee shop or corner shop, going into town for a mooch or going for regular eyebrow threadings for actual human contact. Seeing people in the flesh and engaging in the briefest of conversations has kept me going without me even realising it. And now I don’t have that, most of us don’t, and bloody hell, it’s hard! It has made me miss my friends even more, which has been really tough mentally and emotionally. Because I’m not usually seeing them on a regular basis, those interactions haven’t now been replaced by big Zoom or Houseparty chats, so seeing so many people interacting in that way has actually made the loneliness more acute.
A group of us from my pain management group had finally fixed a coffee date when we were all available, only for lockdown to hit just days before. Instead we hooked up on Zoom for an hour: the first time we’d even thought of using something like that, which in retrospect is bonkers considering how many times one or other of us has had to cancel due to a flare! It was lovely however and by the end of it we all agreed it was an option we could make far more use of. Connecting with them and having the conversation about how this is not so far removed from our usual day to day was a great way of reminding myself that although I can feel the loneliness seeping in at times, I am never truly alone in how I am feeling. I know it can feel like it, when the depths of that dark cloud descend, but really we are all in this together: whether as a community of millions globally or a gang of four hanging out online.
It’s a weird time for all of us and I know we each have our own challenges to meet and overcome. These realisations over the last week and the emotions that have been stirred up have been hard and I don’t think there’s any quick fix. Being able to step back from the ‘everyday’ has given me the opportunity right now to slow down a little, gain some clarity and take the time to really figure out when this is all over where in my life I want to make changes. I am also incredibly grateful for the fact that I know this will not be my normal forever. There have been so many times since my childhood that living with the condition I have, and the new ones that have cropped up along the way, has felt like a sentence, or a weight around me. But things have always improved at some point. Like anything in life there are good patches and bad patches – and the bad patches have sometimes lasted way longer than anyone would have wished them to. But the light does come again and I’m looking forward to it with the knowledge I will appreciate it more than ever.