Realized today I’ve reached maximum Corona saturation. Which means I really topped out weeks ago, but seeing as I consume information and oxygen interchangeably, I was not careful to notice when too much was too much.
They say your gut is your “second brain,” though, so after the sixth(?) day of this IBS runs, (haha! oh how we laugh!), I had to wonder what was up. (Also, Corona panickers, stop fucking hoarding toilet paper, some of us need it right now.)
But considering that since the beginning, I have not actively sought out ANY information on the shit besides the breakdown on the ages catching it and the mortality rates, I’ve still been absolutely bombarded with everything I didn’t want to know about it at every fucking turn in at least two languages on every possible platform and outlet. For months.
And today, it was Too Fucking Much.
The Norms have started panicking in earnest and I just do not have the energy left to carry one drop of water for them or their fears.
See, I don’t like to brag, but I don’t ever have the privilege of walking through the world feeling even modestly invincible — not against health systems which are not set up for patients like me, with chronic and complex needs, during the BEST of times; not against economic systems that push those health systems farther out of reach during the BEST of times; and certainly not against microscopic invaders lurking anywhere/everywhere, ready to wreak havoc in my immuno-modulated body.
Maybe it’s maybelline, or maybe it’s the lifelong complex trauma history, chronic illnesses, a good eye for patterns, chronic pain, a chemo-customized immune system, being a long way from home, going through menopause and puberty at the same time…
Maybe it’s all of it, or none of it.
But from the first mention of this novel threat (which came in addition to the annual seasonal influenza threat, against which I cannot be effectively vaccinated), the question was never really
“oh no, what if I get Corona?” or “what can I do to keep from getting Corona?”
the question was always just
“How long until I get this?” and “Will this be one I can get better from, or the one that gets me?”
I don’t have the luxury of panicking.
Anxiety is the fear of fear, and panic is anxiety turned up to 11. You don’t panic in front of a firing squad; the inevitability precludes it. You might panic when a plane experiences turbulence and bounces around, but have you ever read survivor reports about what happens when one really crashes? It’s often eerily quiet, not screamy like in the movies, because once the uncertainty vanishes, so does a certain degree of the anxiety/panic.
And it’s not just me feeling stuck between damned and doomed. I WISH it were just me, so I could take my little whiny worry and wrap it up and bury it in a hole somewhere and sit on it until this thing passes, but there are so many others in the same or worse situation. Nicer people! People with jobs, and pretty smiles, and polite children, and bright futures! People who serve their communities, in spite of pain and limitations! People who are basically the polar opposite of me in every way, except they are also more likely to catch this fucking virus for no fair reason, and it could very well kill them.
So many valuable, vulnerable people out there who, in addition to all their other lacks, also lack the luxury of panic about this new threat. They can only add it to the stack of all the old threats — maybe build a cabin one day? Or at least a nice bonfire? I’lm brng mrfmrllws, I say through a mouthful of marshmallows.
In the meantime, I’ve muted my local grouptexts #indefinitely. I’m spending more time drinking (I mean, if these are the last days, I want them to be good ones), starting now. Well, 30 minutes ago, here’s mud in your eye.
I think self-congratulatory”social media fasts” are silly, but I’ll probably log in less for a bit — those who know me IRL are welcome to reach out directly in the meantime. I’m trying to avoid the public firehose, not real people who really matter.