We still in the house, and all the walls look the same

TBH, staying in the house isn’t all that bad; however, what seemingly makes it unbearable is that all the rooms in my apartment look the same. And I get, that’s what apartments do. I cannot put in a maintenance request for them to come in and paint the walls a different color because my ass is tired of looking at them. So here I am, inside this apartment where I can only rearrange the furniture so much. (Between you and me, I cannot rearrange the furniture THAT much because my husband genuinely cannot function when I move things lol). I have read over 20 books in the past month and some change that we have been sheltering-in-place.

But then something happened this past week: I didn’t even find joy in reading! Now for those of y’all that know me know that that is some crazy shit. I can always be found with a book in my hand or annoyed that someone is keeping me from reading. So for me to not have the energy or love for reading that I normally do let me know that I had reached my breaking point.

Here’s the thing: I don’t want to go out into the world because I want my friends and family to stay healthy and live to see many more years—so I understand the importance of staying inside. And in the beginning, I was okay. I was completing tasks like normal. I was reading. I was cooking dinner. I was watching TV. I was…being myself; however, I think this week it hit me that these circumstances require a different self that I am used to being. It is a self that I don’t even know how to be because I have never been in a pandemic before.

How am I supposed to keep going on with my doctoral work like it really even matters? When people are dying in high numbers, you mean to tell me this 20 page paper is still relevant? You think I can write coherent academic sentences? I cannot!

I am glad that people are talking about mental health during this pandemic; however, I think graduate students were left out of that conversation. How come our mental health doesn’t matter? How come I am in class of three hours on ZOOM just staring at my classmates and listening to my professor ramble on about something that really seems irrelevant when the world is on fire?

Everywhere I look in my apartment, I am reminded of all the opportunities I lost this year: presenting at SXSW EDU and being invited to speak at Harvard for a Health Equity Summit. These ugly ass walls in my apartment remind me that this is where I have spent the majority of my second semester of my first-year of my doctoral program.

I know I am not the only one who is struggling with having no separation between work and home and family and work and everything else. I am losing the fire I have for the things that I do that I enjoy. My hobbies of crafting and reading and newly gardening all seem like chores now instead of how I wind down.

The walls of my apartment make me feel trapped even though I know I am not. Whenever I have a really depressive mood under normal circumstances, I stay home and hide out; however, now, my refuge has become my torture.

Where do depressed people go who use home as their safe place? Now that place is work and school too.

I really don’t know the answer to that question. I just needed to get these thoughts out of my head.

We still in this damn house and all the walls look the same and I am not well.