Hello Psychosis My Old Friend, I’ve Come To Talk With You Again
The struggles of stepping a foot in reality
I frightened myself this past Tuesday. The way I was sobbing at my desk reminded me of the days I spent crying in my office at my old job in 2014, unproductive, door tightly shut. I’d eventually attempt suicide. Except that this Tuesday I was working from home, just as I’d been working exclusively from home since March. March. April. May. June. July. Now it was the beginning of August.
I’ve been working as a telecommuter for the last five years and had considered the bedroom-to-living room commute a perk. Pre-COVID, part of my job typically involved going out into the community. I cover Westchester County and the Bronx in New York. We make our own schedules. I could be out every day if warranted. Now, I was going on six months with my rear end melded to my desk chair and my work phone settling between my shoulder and ear as a permanent appendage.
My sobs alarmed my dog, Shelby, enough that she roused herself from her reclining position on my couch and trotted over to my chair. She jumped up and placed her front paws on my thighs, reaching her snout up in an effort to give me a slobbery kiss.
Over the previous weekend, mostly spent alone, I acknowledged to myself I was feeling the snare of…
