Last weekend I asked a few of my friends to give me subjects to write about for a self imposed writing challenge. So here is post no.1 on Lockdown life ( Thank you Nicky):

Dear lockdown 2

I thought you and your brother are twins… but it turns out you’re not. Your face is very different altogether and when I look down, the bottom of your brother is different too. Whilst I expected your brother to kill me physically, I now know this won’t be the case… but that you’re going for the soul … for everything that’s inside, for safety, for happiness and you go for love. When I was introduced to your brother I bought him rice and pasta, I thought this would protect me from his toxicity. This time with you my approach was different. I bought you Malaysian White coffee ( mmmmmm so goooood) and sexy undies so I could look at myself in the mirror and feel a little better, I even cycled to the Russian shop to buy a vodka ( which I didnt buy in the end as it was too expensive. Now I regret not spending the money as what I seem to be wanting more of is alcohol) and birch water, which is very refreshing indeed when my heart is under permanent attack.

Thank you, for not putting me under as much pressure as your brother did to improve myself … by not pressuring you’re actually making it more possible and more attractive to improve myself. I meditate a lot, I do sit-ups and I’m doing an online course which I’d never considered doing before, even though it now seems an obvious choice. Unfortunately you’re making me cry a lot more than your brother did and you’ve given me a permanent shoulder pain as a result of uncontrolled anxiety. Your brother allowed me a lot more rest and sleep. You push me out of bed at eight every morning by whispering evil words like ” you are a workshy princess” and ” You don’t deserve to rest, you haven’t even done anything”. But who am I to repeat to you what you know you tell me anyway.

You’re making me feel like I was sitting in a waiting room, and my name is just never called and I sit and ponder whether it’s the right time to leave or whether I should stay.. and I ponder on what reason there is to stay anyway and what will happen when my name gets called.

It feels really scary to think of what’s to come. Your brother didn’t make the future so scary or did he? Maybe it’s because your brother seemed less heavy than you ….. he seemed like he’d have less of a consequence in the beginning and there was more hope I think . Also I was more in denial and spent more time with my beautiful partner, so I didn’t feel the pain as much as now that you’re not giving me a choice anymore.

My name will not be called anymore, in this country, will it? I think it’s fairly safe to say that it won’t. So it’s time to leave… really. Brexit and Corona have stripped this once colourfully decorated waiting room of it’s doctor, and even of it’s nurse. It’s grey now through and through and the pull towards the floor, which isn’t really a floor anymore but has turned into an abyss seems stronger than ever . Henry’s face has turned into a grim dead stare.

I see the stare but I’m not out of control. What can I do now that all is going down the drain? I can go for a Beigel on Bricklane on a rainy November eve and smoke one fag with a random lovely queer stranger who speaks a mix of English and Portugese without noticing, I can cycle to Archway and hope for the Fish and Chips place to still be open, but do I want to eat my fish in the cold and the rain? At least this time I know that I can do this.

What you’ve also told me this time, and thanks for that, is that holiday makes no sense anymore, only going away does. Home will not turn back to normal and it was never that great anyway. You’re forcing me to see and understand and change what I wasn’t able to change last time. Or so I at least hope. Can you tell me whether I will be alone? Can you tell me whether I will really leave together? I know , and you know too, that the change needs to be more drastic, more intense. I’m not a stranger to change and I have adapted before.

Maybe now the pressure is high enough to push and not cripple.

It’s a scary thought but you’ve pushed me to the edge of that springboard. Under myself I can see wild, vast ocean and I’m not even wearing anything. It’s only my skin that I’ve got and it’s only my skin that protects me. You’ve scared me in a way that’s shut me up, so far that I now call the red cross help line to talk about you and about what you do to me.

At least this time I haven’t forgotten to stock up on incense sticks.

Until tomorrow morning


post on people