I had tried going off medication for anxiety/depression on the cusp of all of this. And it proved to be unsuccessful. At the same time, I was endeavoring--with some difficulty--to maintain my physical health.
Over those difficult months, our son moved out, moved in (bringing a friend this time), and moved back out again. And our youngest daughter--who had been somewhat estranged--came to stay temporarily, then left, then came back (also bringing a friend).
In the midst of all this, things got worse. COVID "rules" got tighter and tighter. For a while there were no church gatherings at my place of worship. I began to lose my footing, having removed some responsibilities. But I didn't realize I was losing it right away. I tried a new job that turned out to not be a fit. As a result, my stress level and feeling of ineffective existence increased. It was soon clear that I was not doing well.
So I had no purposeful work, no meds, and many adjustments in terms of changing household composition. I finally did get back on meds--a different kind than before--but it has been an enduring process of finding the right balance. And I don't quite have it even yet.
One thing that happened--that I didn't expect--was that I lost my desire to go to church. Life just seems simpler without it, and I feel painfully honest in saying that. I think I became disappointed at the way in which my church as a whole seemed to "honor" the Coronavirus to such a degree that it felt the precautions were more welcome than the people. I know that's my interpretation--I'm simply sharing what happened in my heart and mind as a result. Since that time, things have resumed at church back to what is almost normal. But it simply does not feel normal to me. And I am at a loss as to what to do about that.
Some bright spots have shined in the midst of the struggle--a rekindled relationship with my daughter, embarking on a new business journey with a dear friend, the birth of a new grandson, out-of-state relatives becoming Oregonians.
But the dull spots remain--I have gained weight and fallen back into old habits, I overthink and still don't desire to spend much time with people, and outside of being a more involved mom again, enjoying my grandma time, and pioneering my way as an entrepreneur I don't see much of a purpose in my day-to-day processes.
I lost my faith in humanity with COVID--and that "humanity," unfortunately--includes many people I've walked and gathered with these past 15 years or so. I've heard at least one family member say that I "just don't want to go to church." But it's way more than that. I don't seem to recognize church--or much of anything anymore. I still feel like it's all surreal. But I know it's not a dream either. The ongoing, persistent, ludicrous reality of it all scares me more than anything ever has.
I just can't seem to switch gears. And maybe I just don't want to. Because doing so means I would have to begin to take on responsibilities--even those of friendly interactions--that I just don't know I can fully commit to. I believe I will once again be steadfast in my overall health. And I am trying not to feel like an utter failure for allowing my mental--and subsequently physical--health to slip. Which means that my spiritual health is probably also in question.
These past nine months have been like being on a voyage and becoming shipwrecked--on an island where nothing seems familiar. But at the same time, there is no motivation to rebuild and embark again. It is a status-quo existence, with some exceptions of course. There are joys, pleasantries. But the zeal for all of life is missing. I can't snap my fingers to get it back. I am still in a process. And I certainly hope the process places me at a more agreeable juncture not too far down the road.
