Post Feelings

I'm double-jabbed, now, and Matt (who has been living with me for three years this month; I do not have the words to convey the amount of work and patience this involves. Thank Christ for Matt) is double-jabbed and my parents are double-jabbed and I'm still not letting my guard down - as neurotic as it sounds I'm still wiping down all the groceries and sanitizing my hands whenever I touch, well, anything, even in my own home.

I spent the first three months of lockdown in hospital. This began in March of last year. The month prior my parents had come to visit again ("again" - it was the first time my dad had seen the flat I had lived in for six years by that point) and we went to my favourite gallery in the city. We made a point about touching elbows and not hugging, and made wry attempts at humour about what had been unfolding across the planet since January.

The week after that myself and Matt met up with some good friends for drinks, dinner and to go and see Parasite. The week after that I was in hospital for the millionth time pleading that they didn't shove an NG tube down my throat again. I wasn't allowed any visitors. I spoke to Matt on the phone every day. I begged the staff to let me out for a smoke and complied with their request for me to do so in a wheelchair. I read the headlines and the Covid statistics and I wondered what the best way to kill myself would be.

It's September 2021 now, which is mad. City center is a mile from my flat and it will be, I know, a while before I feel able to go into a shop or a restaurant that doesn't have outdoor seating. Some of my favourite bars have shut for good, some of my favourite people haven't made it this far. But yesterday I walked into the heart of my city with Matt, and my parents, and it took forever because I am terrified of (everything; just say everything) but specifically crowds of which there were many, so we went the 'scenic' route (a back alley, a skip, broken glass, a dripping noise you can't locate the source of) to the river, got a drink and a takeaway, and things felt almost normal.

Not normal enough to let my guard down, and I doubt I will ever be able to go back to being the person I was before 2020 changed everything. I've grown up a lot since then; I've become proactive, I've become better at dealing with my temper and supporting those I care about, and I take better care of my own health. But to sit by the river in my city for the first time in two years yesterday, eating mussels with a wooden spork, and to look over with my partner and my parents at the bridge lit up as if just for us... I cried for what felt like two wasted years. But I was crying also in the hope of something better to come, I think.