Day 21

Today I hit a low point.

I struggle to get out of bed, feet fumbling for my fluffy slippers.  Feeling groggy, I stumble to the dressing table and stare into the mirror.  There are dark hollows under my eyes and my hair has a nest-like quality – my own fault for going to bed with freshly washed tresses – and in my attempt to detangle, I manage to brush my actual eyeball.  Sweet Jesus.

Throughout the day, everything I do seems to go wrong.

I experience several moments of dizziness and feel a heavy pressure in my chest.  I’m not one for wallowing – I generally try to pick myself up and not let negativity cloud my day – but at this moment I feel like everything is against me.  And for this, I feel utterly selfish, because there is so much going on in the world at the moment and my issues are insignificant in comparison.

In an effort to gain some perspective (and vitamin D) I sit outside for my last working hour and the sound of birds and feeling of sun on my skin lifts me up a bit.  Everything is warm: my hair, my usually cold feet…and my laptop!  Darren creates a quick shade contraption from an umbrella and cable ties.

The hour whizzes by and I start to look forward to the evening ahead.  I log off and think about what we could cook on the barbecue before we go for a cycle.  But first, I type up a few notes for my blog and then try to log on to the website to upload my first entry.  This goes horribly wrong and I am left frustrated and feeling stupid, and I clamber back into my grumpy fug.

Under normal (?) circumstances, I choose not to watch any news.  I used to have the national news playing in the background every morning, but a few years ago I realised it was having a detrimental effect on my mood.  I am about 4 years “sober”, but fell off the wagon since the Coronavirus began.   Darren and I sit together each evening to watch the daily update, keen to learn about any breakthroughs or information about financial support for the self-employed.  Tonight, however, in amongst the sad reports of death tolls and annoyingly rich footballers unwilling to give up their wages, we find out that our Prime Minister has been admitted to Intensive Care.  This spooks us both.

I am not the biggest fan of Boris, but his being ill somehow makes things “real”.  In addition, a tiger has tested positive for Corona, which makes me worry about the spread of this virus and the further threat it could pose.  It all becomes too much and I feel overwhelmed and dizzy.  For the fourth night running, my cheeks are hot and my extremities are ice cold.  Darren gently puts his hand to my forehead and his eyes are filled with concern.

I don’t have the energy for a bike ride and BBQ, so instead I take a hot shower and try to unwind.  When I emerge from the steamy bathroom, I am presented with sausages, a fried egg, potato waffles and mushrooms.  For the rest of the evening I am thoroughly looked after, with strawberry Ribena, gummy bears and a soft blanket.  We laugh at a silly film and every cuddle make things a bit less scary.