I came back to my room yesterday. I am still isolating, but I shall be doing that on MY bed, next to my plants, my lamps, the heterogeneous plugs I got fixed where I needed my lamps, the sound of mummy talking to Goldie, the harmony of the chairs, fridge, and the stove make at 7 pm. I still cannot touch any of it, but my PTS feels calmer for being in a known world. I can’t believe I survived 26 years + 14 days of that.
Everything I had craved- the touch of Goldie’s super hydrated nose, yelling “mummy mummy mummy” till she threatens to hit me, eating from actual plates, and everything I had not remembered to crave but did- the fanny-pack I bought and never got to wear, my cherry tomato plant, my clothes, and accessories- are here. I didn’t realize they were pulling so much of the weight of my existence.
Taking support/relying is good. It’s a step forward in trust, from being the adult-child, lone soldier. Relying on the (breakable) favorite coffee mug, the (fixed-in-the-wall-so-untransportable) cupboard is scary, yes! but a definite improvement over carrying a portable toothbrush, deodorant, painting set, and first-aid kit in a bag on my shoulders daily. I prefer this fear over the hunch it gave my back.
My mind still feels broken thought. It doesn’t sleep well and obsesses over skincare now. But it also reads before bed and see! it does words. It swings from mania to PTS episodes, but it thinks of death no more. There are long moments of peace and sometimes even laughter. I don’t know when I became the person who tells herself to not sully this improvement by fantasizing about it being better or that person who puts on her best outfit, eyeliner, and lipstick to be sick in bed.
Excerpt from Journal while in Isolation
6 days in isolation and I suddenly understand, not empathize with, but understand where ‘Corona is a conspiracy theory’ ists come from. I had hoped to enjoy this time, slurp up all the non-ambush by my family, and savor not running 6 errands or listening to 4 different conversations. But here I am, 6 days into over-estimating how long I can stand virtual bounds. I carried a bag full of paints, lotions, and books. But all I have been able to manage is binge-watching a show and stalking people online. My worry is I will let some anger stew into resentment.
Filling the ether with deep breaths, long sighs, temperature counts, and hummus cravings.
Day 7 in isolation. All my mind ever thinks about now is the Great Outsides, when just 10 days ago it could barely stand the thought of it.
In a desperate attempt to win it, I play along sometimes, to see where my mind would take me if I handed it the car keys. It has small dreams, my mind, it didn’t go beyond my grocery store where the staff knows me and the billing counter where we exchange pleasantries and pasta recipes. They had kept packets of spaghetti hidden away for me. I find myself feeling possessive of these people. From there, it directly visits my favorite breakfast cafe from when I was visiting Kochi. Doesn’t stop till the evening to lust over the red rice and fish curry dinner.
I am not sure my mind feels any affinity towards the Outdoors. It is just tired of the inside.