‘Lockdown showed me what I didn’t have, and what everyone else did’

I wouldn’t describe myself as lonely. But I’m definitely alone. In the first lockdown, that “aloneless” showed itself in really very dark ways. I couldn’t stop eating or I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t stop sleeping or I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop crying or I couldn’t not cry. I cried and cried.

I cried because lockdown showed me what I didn’t have, and what (I thought) everyone else did – financial security, a safe home, people who loved me around me.

My life felt cold blue; theirs amber warm.

I coped by taking my daily governmentsanctioned walk by the beach, by talking at my lovely colleague and friend Ollie for two hours (at the beginning of lockdown he was the only person I’d see every week), by avoiding those sodding Zoom calls (a close-up of this sad sagging face did nothing to lift my mood) and simply by letting myself breathe out and zone out – for me that was by bingeing on trash food and even trashier TV.

This time around? Unlike most sequels, Lockdown 2 feels better. Because it will be shorter? Because I can see more people? (The unlimited socially distanced beach walks are my lifesaver.) Because I’ve been here before? Yes to all the above.

But also because I think my brain has changed. I love to be in control. And I am very much not in control. And I’ve accepted that. Embraced it, even. There’s nothing quite like having to live in the moment to make you able to live in the moment.

So I’m not thinking about the future – yes, I know, a luxury the 598 people who died from Covid-19 on Tuesday do not have – and I’m just being in today. And that’s OK.