Waking up after breaking down

I grieve. I grasp. I dig.

I’m on leave from work, and at this slower pace, finally paying attention.

My brain is foggy and my anxious body still recovering, but I’m waking up.

Waking up to the reality I’m weary from running two lives simultaneously — the one I was taught to follow, the other I continue to etch out for myself.

Waking up to the trauma caused by my co-dependent nuclear family and decades of ‘should’s’ and ‘supposed-to’s,’ unsolicited advice, and voice squelching.

Waking up to the knowledge that a global pandemic requiring social distancing and outright lack of trust in people is the antithesis of how I’m built.

It’s no wonder life is unsustainable right now, especially when I add intimate relationships with a partner I adore and multiple kids I’d travel to the end of the earth for. Oh, let’s not forget responsibilities of pets, mortgage, and all that comes with maintaining this life.

I numb to be the carefree, fun, engaging parent I want to be.

I numb because I don’t want to feel unbearable weight on my shoulders.

I numb to exist in this loud world.

But after initial relief, the clouds darken, the quicksand deepens.

Shame and guilt build.

I’ve been here before — in the throes of addiction and a cyclone of depression.

But COVID has hijacked what used to be manageable anxiety and pushed it into overdrive.

This is a new level of pain.

COVID infiltrates everything, and 18 months later shows no signs of abating.

Yes, there are vaccines.

But trust alludes us as individual choice supersedes the common good.

Our shared humanity is harder to recognize.

I grieve — the pain we are all in, the trauma that will take years to understand.

I grasp — for anything that is rooted, simple, and easy to process.

I dig — out of this hole that has engulfed me.

Read more about my journey at Scattered Self

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Prakhar and Kadambari. “About Us” is published by Prakhar Misra.

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