You know, the pandemic affected me more than I care to admit. I’ve always been aware that I may have a problem mentally but I think the prolonged time spent indoors might have really set it off. I may be binge watching shows on my phone, doing usual chores, or answering work emails and inquiries but the feeling of dread and anxiousness never left my side and have steadily kept me company for the whole of 3 months.
Now that I think about it though, it may have started 5 years ago when I was struggling to look for a stable job and the pressure of not being able to do so had finally opened my 25-year-old mind to the horrible reality of adulthood. Since then, I clamored for things to keep me from pondering over my failures and eventual lame death. I was only 25 and my biggest fear was dropping dead any moment, not given any chance to properly live the rest of my life before that. I also began to fear the future, of my aging parents and how I still heavily depend on them to survive. Being the eldest among siblings didn’t help either because then, I feel obligated to be responsible for the future of my younger sisters even though in reality, they will eventually face the same situation. My fears never went away after I’ve realized them. And at present, they almost have free reign on my mind and are abusingly taking advantage of the crisis situation.
I think it’s because the virus separated me from things I’ve kept beside me to keep me sane and alive. And by that I mean the people, places, food, and activities that I love. I will not make any excuses for the way I feel even if I’m part of the privileged few and I can only request people not to expect it of me. At this point, I’ll just firmly reserve the right to feel what I feel because, well, I’m also human just like everybody else. I’ve been having trouble sleeping since quarantine started and even if I owe much of that to the excessive bing watching activity I did, I at least know that I shouldn’t be having thoughts of looking out the balcony and ‘accidentally’ going over the railings right after I finish an episode of the Big Bang Theory. I fear death like many others and I’m painfully aware of my own mortality. But it doesn’t really keep me from having the kind of thoughts like the one I’ve recounted just now. Just last night, I’ve stayed up until 7am thinking about my life and the murky future I’ll be facing in the days to come. That thought about the balcony also visited me once more and with it came the crippling fear of death. It’s confusing really (I fear death but somehow can’t stop thinking about it) and somehow, coming into terms of what I’m really going through is proving quite a struggle.
I don’t know why but I’m taking time out my writing my paper to finally admit that I may be a potentially, mentally ill person. I’ve read from numerous accounts of people diagnosed with mental illness that it is always a good thing to start your road to recovery with an acceptance of your situation so me suddenly doing this may be a good sign. I’ve always been timid about getting professional help because I feel that I may not be suffering enough to merit one and there are a lot of people who need them more than I do. We do have an in-house paychiatrist where I work but I haven’t taken up the courage to take a visit. And with the pandemic still very much a threat to everyone, it may prove to be difficult to get an appointment.
We’re required to go back to work on a blended skeletal and work-from-home set-up and I’m feeling both a sense of dread and excitement thinking about it. Going back out into the world will surely be a challenge for someone as confused, mentally speaking, as me. But maybe going out there can give my mind a piece of that control it’s been struggling with since 5 years ago. Of course I fear putting my life at risk by exposing myself to the virus and if somehow I prove to be asymptomatic, I can unintentionally pass it to my sister living with me or my father who has a pre-existing condition and visits us for groceries from time to time. I fear that the virus can kill me but I fear it more killing my sisters and my parents. No matter how I look at it, I can’t win at any angles. And thus, my already weakened mind is now, more than ever, struggling to stay alive.
PS. I said I don’t know why I wrote this in the middle of writing my grad school paper but maybe that’s just it. I’ve been too preoccupied with surviving this pandemic and the thought of still worrying over my academic career on top of that is just more than my mind can bear. In short, I was just taking a little break.
PPS. Yes, I binged watch shows instead of writing my paper because watching was one of the old fashioned ways I’ve kept doing to distract myself from horrid thoughts especially when the going gets tough. I already expect criticism for this but I’ll just to choose to shut up should anybody pointed it out.
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