Admittedly, I was worried when Manila went on lockdown. I have always had anxieties of the unknown, and considering how messy our leaders handle crisis, I was bracing myself on a roller coaster ride.
It is now more than two months since that day. School was shut mid-term. All work screeched to a halt. Life hung, it seemed, on suspended animation... but it didn't. No really at all, which I guess is part of the reason why the neurotransmitters in my brain is going nutty, more so than usual. Imagine gears in a machine, one stuck at a stand-still while the other one still trying to crunch on. It eventually gives and turns and its teeth slowly wearing out the teeth of the static gear. This is sort of what I am feeling at the moment.
The lockdown forced me to give up the momentum I had gained before quarantine, to stop and drop everything. But yet, surviving life and adapting to the "new normal" while in quarantine necessitates that I still keep moving, at even on a heightened level of alertness. This irony in my life right now, trying to be still and yet still moving is wearing me down. It doesn't help that the government doesn't make me feel safe. It doesn't help that bills are still arriving. It doesn't help that my savings are still being used up. It doesn't help that work, as it now beginning to churn again, will be more challenging. It doesn't help that all this time during lock down, I was trying my best to stay positive. It doesn't help that I have tapped into and have depleted my sources of inner joy.
Depression during lockdown is a weight on your chest. It is like a chain around your neck, a noose on your fragile sanity. Every minute blow is like a small, teasing nudge for you to fall, and every fiber of your being struggle to keep your footing.
Depression during lockdown are polarized lenses you wear. It casts a dark wash on everything, even the brightest glimmer feels dull. All past indulgences no longer satisfies. All past joys are now distant memories.
Depression during lockdown is a sickness in my body, and my physical body knows it. I wake up with aches. I am lethargic all the time. I have little motivation, despite my job requiring me to motivate others (I teach in university). I find it difficult to breath sometimes. When the attacks come I guess. When I think of going back to work. When I think about going back to this post-pandemic world. When I think about how I need to be careful again, when fear was part of the fuel of my depression in the first place. When I think about dying from Covid-19, and maybe the short suffering is better than this life-long toil of just enduring.
Covid-19 brought out the worst, and it was not just killing with pneumonia.
It is now more than two months since that day. School was shut mid-term. All work screeched to a halt. Life hung, it seemed, on suspended animation... but it didn't. No really at all, which I guess is part of the reason why the neurotransmitters in my brain is going nutty, more so than usual. Imagine gears in a machine, one stuck at a stand-still while the other one still trying to crunch on. It eventually gives and turns and its teeth slowly wearing out the teeth of the static gear. This is sort of what I am feeling at the moment.
The lockdown forced me to give up the momentum I had gained before quarantine, to stop and drop everything. But yet, surviving life and adapting to the "new normal" while in quarantine necessitates that I still keep moving, at even on a heightened level of alertness. This irony in my life right now, trying to be still and yet still moving is wearing me down. It doesn't help that the government doesn't make me feel safe. It doesn't help that bills are still arriving. It doesn't help that my savings are still being used up. It doesn't help that work, as it now beginning to churn again, will be more challenging. It doesn't help that all this time during lock down, I was trying my best to stay positive. It doesn't help that I have tapped into and have depleted my sources of inner joy.
Depression during lockdown is a weight on your chest. It is like a chain around your neck, a noose on your fragile sanity. Every minute blow is like a small, teasing nudge for you to fall, and every fiber of your being struggle to keep your footing.
Depression during lockdown are polarized lenses you wear. It casts a dark wash on everything, even the brightest glimmer feels dull. All past indulgences no longer satisfies. All past joys are now distant memories.
Depression during lockdown is a sickness in my body, and my physical body knows it. I wake up with aches. I am lethargic all the time. I have little motivation, despite my job requiring me to motivate others (I teach in university). I find it difficult to breath sometimes. When the attacks come I guess. When I think of going back to work. When I think about going back to this post-pandemic world. When I think about how I need to be careful again, when fear was part of the fuel of my depression in the first place. When I think about dying from Covid-19, and maybe the short suffering is better than this life-long toil of just enduring.
Covid-19 brought out the worst, and it was not just killing with pneumonia.
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