From joy to misery, at least we’re all on this coronacoaster together
On Tuesday night I sobbed for three hours straight. It was odd, because nothing had happened, or nothing unusual had happened – it was a lockdown day like any other: up, down, and everything in between. I have found that there is a pattern to my days, and that this pattern is an absolute mess, the kind of pattern a two-year-old child might come up with when handed a piece of paper and some crayons. It goes something like this:
6.30am: Wake up, experience a brief second of joy because I have yet to remember there is a global pandemic going on.
6.31am: Feel overcome with lethargy as I remember there is a global pandemic going on. Question what day it is, then realise it doesn’t really matter, because it will be exactly the same as all the other days.
6.33am: Go downstairs to kitchen to make coffee. Switch on radio. Realise I no longer need coffee to wake up, as listening to whatever omnishambles has made the news today is enough to send me into a rage that will get the whole house up.
6.34am until approximately 9.30am: Rage while making breakfast, cleaning out guinea pigs, making small child go to loo and brush teeth etc.
9.31am: Go for run. Become overwhelmed with love as I spot four fox cubs under a pallet. Think soothing thoughts about the power of nature to heal.
10.25am: Return home on a cloud of serenity, ready to face the day.
10.26am: Begin 25-minute monologue about how unacceptable it is that, despite me having been gone for almost an hour, my husband has opted to spend that time watching Toy Story 2 with our daughter, instead of home schooling.
11am: Begin home schooling. Remind self that a proper teacher probably wouldn’t say things like: “I can’t believe you can’t tell the time. It’s so OBVIOUS!” Realise this is especially true when you, a woman of almost 40, cannot even do fractions. 11.45am: Have first lunch. 1.15pm: Have second lunch. 2pm: Accidentally look at Twitter. Lose 90 minutes of my life I will never get back.
3.30pm: School’s out! Or it would be if it was in. Go to park, leave phone at home, so I can connect with child and nature. Listen to child moan about how boring you are. “Look at those lovely flowers,” I say.
“Flowers are stupid,” she replies, “just like YOU!”
4.45pm: Flagellate myself without mercy for having the temerity to complain about lockdown when others have it far worse. Think of all the ways in which this makes me a bad person. Dwell on every one of them for longer than is healthy.
6pm: In an attempt to cheer myself up, reminisce with husband about the good old days of lockdown, when securing a supermarket delivery slot and a nine-pack of loo roll was enough to keep your spirits up.
7pm: Hear rumour that the local fish and chip shop is to reopen for takeaway. Become so overwhelmed with happiness that I begin to cry. Continue in this vein for three hours. And so on, and so on.
If I have learnt anything during lockdown – and I haven’t, really – it is that it’s perfectly possible to feel several conflicting emotions within moments of each other, and sometimes at the same time.
This emotional “coronacoaster” has now been recognised by psychological professionals, with one study released this week recognising that our moods have fluctuated wildly, many of us cycling through joy, misery and acceptance in a similar way to people moving through the five stages of grief.
Psychologist Dr Andy Cope, who oversaw the research, noted that “the exhausting highs and lows of dealing with the crisis are bound to have long-term effects on our mental health”.
Lockdown has put everything under the microscope, and so feelings are heightened. “The virus is contagious,” said Dr Cope, “but so, too, are human emotions as we’re wired for social connection. Irritation can creep in.
“The Buddhists have a phrase ‘vipassana vendetta’, which translates as ‘when tiny little irritations become full-blown anger’. We get irritated by the little things and we end up raising our voice and having silly arguments over next to nothing.”
It must be hard for those people currently shielding, who are unable even to buoy themselves with the thought of sitting in a friend’s garden for as long as their bladder holds.
After almost 10 weeks on the coronacoaster, nerves are shredded, emotions are frayed, and we’re going to have to learn to go easy on ourselves and each other as we begin to get off. Let the tears come, for this, my friends, has been quite the ride.
To cheer up, we reminisce about the good old days, when securing loo roll lifted spirits