I’m depressed periodically during the pandemic, why wouldn’t I be…

There is no fluffy picture for this post. Just words. I’m navigating my depression as it comes. It comes in waves, sort of like COVID19. When the numbers spike up, I get worried and my sleep starts to be interrupted.

There are so many things that parents are trying to figure out right now. I’m worried about online school, in-person school, the social and emotional ramifications of isolation for myself and my child. There has to be time to make arrangements with the co-parent and to keep that connection as robust as possible. Family members – how do we stay connected? How do we start connections that are needed in a pandemic?

Then there’s my health. I was already immunocompromised and now I’m not well. I need surgery. How do I mitigate my health challenges and stay safe.

I wear my mask and I keep out of the public spectrum.

Many people do not.

… but I feel so isolated. I feel an aloneness that I haven’t felt before. There is a despair in the air, quite like no other because this is life and death for many Black Americans. One reckless choice could have catastrophic consequences. And yet we still want to see each other, we want to feel connected, we want to feel alive.

I prefer to stay alive. Death is harsh and terribly final. I’m not done living yet.

This is how my depression mounts itself on my shoulders and I deep dive into escapism to release the tension. It’s like something has its talons in my shoulder blades and it’s the only touch I know now besides my own. I just want to break free, but what of freedom now. Freedom from my depression is just feeling better in an isolated state. … but I do long to be free from the sadness.

Perhaps I just need to get the big cry out of the way now and then get my ass back up and seize the day.