Postcards From the Edge

I’m afraid.

If you’ve known me for any length of time, you know I’m really bad at acting like I don’t feel the way I feel. And when I say bad, I really mean terrible. So, yea, that’s how I feel. I’m afraid.

I’m afraid I’m going to get sick.

I’m afraid I’m going to get someone else sick.

I’m afraid my mom is going to get sick.

I’m afraid I’m going to run out of wine.

I’m afraid the next time I really need to put makeup on is going to be so far in the future that I forget how to do my makeup.

I’m afraid to put makeup on, even though it would make me feel better, because if I go through products, I’ll have to go out to get more.

I’m afraid to go out.

I’m afraid for an older gentleman in my neighborhood who I saw walking this morning. I think he lives alone and doesn’t work that I can see. He mostly spends his time at our local neighborhood watering holes sitting at the bar and chatting with people. All of our restaurants are only doing take out. I don’t think he has anyone else to talk to.

I’m afraid that despite the fact that I live alone and am used to the solitude at my own house, I’m going to go mad.

I’m afraid that I’m never going to forgive the idiots who are still congregating and not practicing social distancing despite being warned.

I’m afraid if I get sick people will judge me and I will judge myself.

I’m afraid.

This feels a lot like when my grandmother was dying.

I knew something really bad was going to happen but I didn’t know when it would happen. My mother and I just had to sit and wait and change her diapers and watch her slowly deteriorate for months. No one could give us any timeline for when the stress would stop.  

Living in a constant state of stress is really exhausting. My hair started to thin and dull and I had chest pains. I’m trying to learn from that and make sleep and exercise a priority as I find my new daily routine amidst this uncertain storm.

When it was over, getting back to normal was also a process. Not the grieving, that’s a totally different animal. I mean the process of getting back to normal life after months of it being anything but. The first time a friend asked if I wanted to have dinner, I automatically said no but then I realized I could go! I didn’t have to be at my mom’s house. It still felt weird to laugh and be happy. It felt weird not to be stressed out because that had become my new normal. There will be a day like that someday, hopefully soon, for all of us and I keep trying to tell myself that when I get panicked about how long this could last.

We will get through this. I will get through this. 

I don’t think saying that I’m afraid makes me weak. In fact, I feel strongest in this life when I say what I’m afraid of and then take that thread down the path of all contingencies, all stories good and bad. What if?

Once we say it out loud it doesn’t have the power it once did. I do. We do.

I’m afraid.

UPDATE: I actually wrote this about two weeks ago. I feel better now. The body and mind’s process to acclimate us to change, however dreadful, is astonishing. I still wanted to honor how I felt and what I wrote that day as well as share the pictures I took to document what our neighborhood felt like at the time. Stay safe everyone.