I preferred to spend most of my time alone. When friends came by, the world fell apart in its usual way. I was lost in their conversations. People tend to have faith that a brief moment of conformity is enough to fix their flaws without realizing the years of isolation that went into making them; whole lifetimes are spent ignoring the fact your body is not your mind.
In the beginning of the crisis, I devised my own time system: how many assignments I’ve missed, how many phone calls I’ve ignored, and how many days I don’t speak. Heaven must have been the beach in September. I sat on the floor of my empty apartment one night. The sun began rising. I’m not sure what I was thinking about. It wasn’t sadness, the fragility of the world went much deeper than my routine depression. One month in, I wanted to spend most of my time asleep.
Six years before the pandemic, I had for the first time what would eventually become known to me as a depressive episode. I needed to tell my father I’ve failed an exam. My mother served us dinner. I at slowly and stared at my plate as if it would tell me all of the things I would’ve needed to get out of New York. “Do you even know what we lost to bring you here?” I almost never got out of bed. My mother prayed for months. I drank my tears. No one saw.
My plants died from a lack of love. I made a list of things I noticed the absence of: good news, familiar names, the sun in the suburbs, meeting people that complicated my unremarkable life. Each month left an inconsolable space; I imagine sometimes we’re still in that space.
Going out into the world became a matter of sustaining non-mutual conversations. My friends were living new lives and I had a way of reminding them how miserable we were. The reality of being born in one place and dying in another can be consuming for certain personalities. I was the most alone after seven months. Every misunderstanding deepened my solitude.
People seemed too comfortable in the world. I suppose they always did. I spent the rest of the pandemic sitting with my fear of others. It was an uneventful time. I cried. I stared at the ceiling for hours. I fell asleep on my bathroom floor. The news was on 24/7. My life took on a new form. (What I’m trying to say is: at some point my fear was lost and now I am whoever I am today.)
Time feels liquid. The sun rises as soon as it can. We’re uncreating new disasters—that’s where I’m coming from. The world knows the road to healing, you don’t.
ZNK 