Over the last few months, I have felt like I have been walking through a dream. Not a good one. It has been one of those that might be more nightmare-ish. The ones where I find I can’t scream or move in the manner I want in order to protect or defend myself against whatever my mind unleashes when my guard has been temporary lowered. I wake up with the hope it was all something my mind has made up to mess with me, to keep me on my toes, but only to find my brain has been replaying the days events again during the night.
I find I am watching more TV than I should and am bombarded by shit I should turn off, but can’t because I guess I’m caught somewhere between no self control and boredom. I am forgetting myself and find I am focusing on things I can’t control like other people’s decisions to not to wear face masks. It seems this rationalization is now a political statement instead of being a careless and otherwise selfish act.
This never ending pandemic, my brother’s death a few weeks ago, George Floyd’s death this week and the reckless riots in the city I love…I now ruminate over the profound callousness of my fellow American citizens. I find myself not being myself and perhaps just slightly agitated, not the normal level of agitation I typically reach every morning with my caffeine consumption. This is a deeper level of unrest I haven’t felt since my hormone induced teenage years.
These are the times of “one glass of wine isn’t enough”. However, I still judge myself incredibly harshly even knowing these times are a little darker than normal. Returning to a practice of gratitude is always something I try to do in these times, especially when my humor escapes me. My bright spot is my lovely daughter and everything about her. I am so incredibly lucky that she is so amazingly independent with her school work. I do not have to take on the task of homeschooling.
I cannot image the level of strife parents are going through with potential joblessness or working from home and topped with the need to now be a teacher to your children. I might be able to muddle through most subjects, but my daughter just happens to be in compacted math. My daughter’s current knowledge of math far exceeds mine. Hats off to all those parents who are white knuckling though the next few weeks. With all that is presently wrong with the world, I have to believe that homeschooling might be a point of agitation and contributing to a whole new reason to struggle with self-esteem.
Mental health professionals have their work cut out for them and will have to do a major overhaul to those questionnaires and surveys that some take in their PCP or therapist’s offices. Two new questions I propose to assess overall mental health should be: (1) how many rolls of toilet paper do you presently have in your home and (2) are you currently homeschooling? If so, how many children? A “yes” answer to homeschooling, regardless of how many children, is a automatic prescription to a anxiety/depression medication of your choosing. If the answer to the T.P. questions is zero, then that might require a psychiatric hold.