Love in The Time of Covid
Has anyone else noticed that since coronavirus made its way into our lives we have been forced to hit the pause button? In a lot of ways the world keeps spinning; the bills still keep arriving, Amazon still keeps delivering, but the very essence of our lives, our personal situation whatever that may be, feels like it is being condensed and frozen in time.
Some people are relishing the pause, for others there is a sense of an inability to escape, to move on to the next thing, to see things from a different perspective. Here, now, there are no distractions. For some this is a nightmare, for some, all of the difficulties of living through a pandemic aside, life boiled down to it’s very essence tastes pretty sweet. But there is no escaping the fact that in this unnatural situation, whatever your personal situation is right now will still be exactly the same for a while yet. Life is on hold.
I am single and in lockdown. It is pretty shit to be honest. I flip through Tinder and scroll through OK Cupid to pass the time, but all it seems to do is make me feel depressed and more disconnected. Which is a shame, because my newly-acquired ever-plumping arse definitely deserves some fucking appreciation.
It has been quiet out there in the online dating world for the last two months; almost as dead as the motorway I stare at through my windows gliding into the city centre, but as the lockdown is easing there seems to be more traffic building again, just like on the motorway. But still, profiles talking of nights in and nights out and meeting up for a coffee seem quaintly old-fashioned; of another, more innocent time. I sometimes start up a couple of halfhearted conversations with matches, but it all seems pretty pointless and I quickly get bored. At first, when coronavirus crept up on us and suddenly burst in, it seemed odd to try and think about dating when all of my thoughts were of the fight or flight variety. But now I feel a flatness, an ‘I can’t be bothered’-ness.
Why? I think it is because what I crave in lockdown alone is so much more solid. Suddenly I am not excited by prospective dates and whatsapp chats late into the night any more. Playing the game of will-they-won’t-they-like-me, chasing the zingy, fizzy adrenaline hit of discovering someone with whom you could possibly have a real connection, seems too far up Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, right up there with self-actualisation. The warmth of shared, secure love with a long term partner feels a lot more desirable; equal to warmth, food and shelter; all needed for survival. And god I miss it.
My dreams at night turn to the past; times when I felt safe and secure. In the daytime, past love appears briefly but solidly in the corner of my vision and then disappears when I turn to it. A back turned away from me pulling on socks on the edge of the bed. A pair of legs crossed on the sofa. The sound of the front door opening. I miss the smell of skin and the sense of another familiar self in my vicinity. It is more than missing hugs or sex or conversation; it is a loneliness boiled down to a pinprick-sized dense-as-hell black hole.
I am obviously not alone in feeling like this, judging by the texts I received in March from two exes checking I was okay, and someone clever in Brighton even felt the need to remind the whole world texting your ex right now is a pretty bad idea (it’s a shame nobody thought to point this out to me in good time, because yes, dear reader, I sent the ‘thinking of you’ text to my most recent ex in March as well). The single are suddenly feeling the most single and needy they have ever felt in their lives.
(photo courtesy of Ali Baker-Brookes)
But then, other times I feel lucky living alone and parenting my kids on my own terms. I try not to think about the people trapped at home with their abusers,the ever-rising domestic murder rate, or the people grieving alone; it seems too unthinkable a reality. There must also be plenty of people dealing with relationships falling apart under the strain of no escape from each other; and the people who look at their partner over the dinner table for the 42nd night running and realise their most prominent emotions are those of monotonous contempt.
And I will admit I have discovered a new emotion in lock down; bitter, nasty jealousy towards those people I know who are paired up. I have always been pretty comfortable in my own skin when I have been single before, and prided myself on my independence, my not needing to be in a relationship, any old relationship, to have a sense of self worth. But recently, jealousy gnaws away at me when I see couples holding hands and chatting easily on their hour’s walk a day, thoughts turn to imagining couples leaning on each other and holding on to each other in the middle of the night. Sharing this weirdest of experiences with someone who gets them and knows what they need. Hell, I get jealous when I see my neighbour go out for a run whilst her partner puts the children to bed. To have the freedom to just go for a bloody run on a warm evening, completely and luxuriously alone, seems like the ultimate goal when you are a single parent in lockdown.
There are no real distractions any more, there is a lot more time to ruminate over the past and examine my true feelings and dig up buried hurts; there is no real, tangible roadmap for the immediate future to strive towards either. There is truly no running away.
People I know have buckled under the pressure of the recent enforced pausing of their lives; having to stand still and take stock even if they don’t want to or don’t feel up to it right now. Addictions picked up again, well-camouflaged anxieties rearing their heads, mental ill health flares. I have also nearly buckled under the weight at times I know, being a survivor of mental ill health, and there may still be buckles ahead. I truly believe the ramifications will be felt for a long time after this emergency state eases, ripples of crisis running through our communities over the next few years.
But I have decided to own this loneliness. It wasn’t exactly top of my list of plans for 2020; face my demons down trapped in a three bed semi seven days a week with two crazy children, with literally none of my friends and family around. But it has happened, and I have no choice. None of us do actually, our choices have been taken away by the pandemic; we have to just stand still, breathe and ‘be’.
Texting my ex or filling my time with the distractions of promised casual sex or the ‘oooh, the guy I just matched with on Tinder may be the next ‘one’’ feeling, seems futile and pointless. If I can get through this completely alone, with no distractions for the first time in my life, I can get through absolutely anything completely alone. And I will come out of this a better, stronger person. With a huge arse. And at least I won’t be coming out of 2020 with freshly signed divorce papers.
Written by Arts Editor, Kerry Mead
Kerry is 43 and a long term resident of Bristol. Music obsessive, book obsessive, social butterfly, escaper of responsibilities, self diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder, full time single parent and registered carer to her oldest child who has autism, she also squeezes in two part time jobs; one in ad sales and the other in communications for a local charity.When she isn't busy with that lot Kerry is a writer. She writes about parenting and neurodiversity, and all the other stuff too.
You can check out her blog here.