Have you had more than enough of putting on a brave face? God, me too…
How are you doing?” chirp messages from friends, and I scream into the text box, “NOT OK. I’M NOT OK.” For a while there I was coasting on my own privilege, sliding over the surface of fury and boredom by reminding myself of all the thousands of ways in which it could be worse – but even the deepest well has a bottom.
There has been an airless quality to the last few weeks. “Family time”, once a precious fantasy just out of reach, is now a sweaty weighted blanket under which four of us must live. Like potholers we shuffle our bodies from room to room, looking for escape routes – a chink of light, a foreign sound, anything that means we do not have to stare into each other’s beloved faces for another year-long minute.
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