The lockdown continues, but I’ve sort of been here before. Obviously we haven’t had a global pandemic in recent memory, but a few years ago, my own anxiety kept me in the house. For two whole years, I was trapped by a prison of my own making in a room in my mum’s flat in Lewisham. The main difference here is that a) we’re all in this together and b) this time I don’t have my mum and sister to keep me company.
Although I knew it was absolutely vital, I was worried for so many reasons when the lockdown was announced. The first was that my grandparents and mum wouldn’t be able to get the food and medical care they needed, and the second was that I knew that when it came to mental health, we would all suffer. This isn’t just because we’re all in the house (I know that I’m definitely in here chilling with my demons), but what happens when it comes to work? Many of us rely on our work for income, but also for stability, and routine. I know that when I left my job last year to write full time, having no schedule and constant social contact with people was astonishingly hard to get used to. My mental health took a hit, and it took me months to adjust to being by myself so much of the time.