Disappointment in the time of Corona

This week, my therapist sent two questionnaires to the "online portal" (this is how we do therapy now, apparently. There's a website that keeps a virtual copy of every piece of paper I've signed or clicked a box on since I started seeing her two months ago), and when I opened them, I realized they were the pretty basic "how are you feeling in the last two weeks?" information sheets, the same ones I had filled out before my first appointment. I think they're designed to give her an idea if you are, perhaps, depressed, or worse yet, suicidal.

I am neither of those things, but I suspect my assessment numbers might have been a touch higher this time around.

While our entire country finds itself struggling with a pandemic from which there is no escape (its nation - and world - wide), I find myself with increasing feelings of doom, hopelessness, and sadness. There are memes all over the internet that say "check on your extroverted friends, they're not okay", but I honestly would be surprised if anyone is truly "OK" right now. I've spent some of my ample free time considering this. Why am I so sad, down, and just generally gross-feeling right now (besides the obvious, which is that I was taking one shower every three days last week)? No one I know has been rendered seriously ill from the virus (thankfully), and I myself am relatively unlikely to have severe symptoms. I'm still working, too. Landscape companies can fall under the category of essential services because we provide maintenance to residential homes. I have a job and some income (whatever that may look like in late March in Colorado, where it is sunny and 60 one day and 28 and dumping huge white flakes the next). I don't have a young family, or even a pet, that I feel pressure to provide with food, entertainment, or education.

The best explanation I can come up with is that the last month of my life has been a series of continual, sometimes surprising, disappointments. As one concert or event is cancelled after another, travel to certain areas is discouraged or even prohibited, restaurants begin to close, and even hiking trails and camping areas are shut down (because this is Colorado, and the mass movement of people to outdoor recreation areas for their own sanity is standard practice in March, and doubly so with a pandemic forcing us all out of work and into our homes), I spent most of the last two weeks with a cold, sinking feeling in my core every time I logged onto facebook for news, or a friend sent me another link about something that was being stopped, postponed, closed.

A concert that Jeremy and I had considered attending in Aspen was postponed, alarmingly, along with that band's entire spring tour schedule, due to a confirmed coronavirus case from a tourist who had visited the ski vacation spot in February. Spring training baseball games were cancelled, which initially altered but did not derail my March plans for a trip to Arizona. The ski resort where I bartend was shut down for the rest of the projected 3-week season with no notice on a Saturday night, putting myself and dozens of others unexpectedly out of our seasonal jobs. Then they called off Major League baseball entirely for the first two weeks of the regular season, Americans were asked to please refrain from traveling, and the out of state springtime escape to Arizona was ultimately squashed. The day after we decided to stay home, I received word that all launches for an overnight river rafting trip we had planned for my birthday in early April were being cancelled. I collapsed on my kitchen floor, sobbing. "Everything is awful", I cried. Within days, restaurants and bars were ordered to close their dining areas and resort to take-out or delivery only, resulting in some businesses just locking their doors altogether. I'm quite sure some of them won't survive this.

While I cried on my couch and texted my friends and stressed about how terrible these adjustments would be, the virus numbers continued to climb. Many Americans began being hospitalized. People are dying. Possibly lots of them. I told myself I was being a jerk, that I wasn't allowed to be devastated over a loss of social and recreational activities, because people are dying. But the grief and desperation I feel is real. I don't think saying "buck up, things could be so much worse, let me tell you how" has never worked to make anyone truly feel better, except possibly in certain wartime situations. "Sure, you lost a foot, a leg, and the vision in your right eye, your wife took up with your brother while you were abroad, and there's no job waiting for you back in Minnesota, but hey! Look on the bright side. At least you're alive." I don't think we are there yet.

I know my story isn't unique. Tons of people were laid off with no notice, had to cancel long-awaited travel plans, and have had their social lives interrupted. I fully expect some folks to read this blog and say "so what? She doesn't have it so bad", and I would agree. But belittling each other's distress and sadness isn't going to make anyone feel better, is it? We have to accept that every reason to be disappointed is a valid one. Making others feel guilty for being upset in this trying time is not going to lessen your distress, I promise you.

On Thursday, a "stay at home" order (the kinder, gentler title for a "shelter in place" order, which is what you get when you live in a blue state with a democratic governor who cares about the emotional well-being of his constituents) was issued in Colorado, and Gov. Jared Polis and his administration made a valiant attempt to make it as specific as possible. "Exercise" was listed on the side of acceptable reasons for leaving your home. Coloradans rejoiced. They even included examples such as running, hiking, biking, walking pets. Grocery stores, including WalMart, Target, pharmacies, and various supply-based businesses, such as hardware, would also remain open and accessible. It is all written in the text of the multi-page order.

Why, then, do I feel myself looking over my shoulder when I leave my home? As I mentioned above, I am still able to work, at least for now, which gives me an acceptable reason to be outside during daylight hours. But the chill in the pit of my stomach remains: guilt. Or the perception that I should feel some kind of guilt. Shouldn't I be doing more? Should I be sacrificing my physical health and my exercise goals for the greater good and just stay inside my 400 sq foot apartment instead of going running? Are those people who are using our local hiking trails, myself included, doing more harm? Are razor blades or ice cream an essential reason to take myself to the store? Is an imagined enforcement team going to appear out of nowhere, demand my work papers, ask where I am headed, and deem my intentions trivial, unimportant, or dangerous? Worse, could I be responsible for the death of another human if I walk out my door?

I hope I've explained these feelings well. While I, like many others, can tell myself that I don't have it bad, the truth is that the feeling are the same for us all. Sadness, disappointment, guilt, uncertainty of what we should do. I'm sure feelings of depression are present for some, and creep into my mind at my worst moments. Will we make it through this, and will we want to, when the lifestyle on the other side of coronavirus might be so drastically different from what we have all come to know?

The suggestion that we need to be kind to ourselves is the only uplifting thing I can think of to parrot right now. Beating ourselves up for feeling distress over seemingly "small" things, or worse, letting others beat you up for your feelings of sadness, aren't going to help any of us cope with what's happening. Let's allow ourselves to believe that anything we feel right now is valid, acceptable, and true.

And wash your hands.