Loneliness in the pandemic

I wonder if the loneliness created by the pandemic is something I can adapt to. And should I?

It’s been a whole year since Covid-19 appeared. It is not an anniversary I want to recognize. But as we turn the corner into Spring, I am thinking about a piece I wrote back in the Fall about loneliness in the pandemic.

During that time, the weather was getting colder and I couldn’t imagine life where even socially distanced walks felt impossible. I couldn’t imagine being by myself all day, and yet it happened.

As the weather continues to warm, the world around me feels alive again. The birds are chirping again. The squirrels are scurrying again. People are walking outside in droves, with their friends and their dogs and their significant others. Even if the pandemic is still here, perhaps we can celebrate the fact that warm weather and a vaccine is coming. There are things that we can look forward to.

Given that, here is a past me set in a cold October in New Haven:

I haven’t admitted to myself that this pandemic has made me feel lonely. I tell myself that other people are lonelier. I tell myself I have friends here. But the feeling persists.

I journal daily, but I don’t divulge how I feel to myself. I try to stick to facts but the fact is, it’s getting way too quiet in my apartment. I wake up in the morning and nothing stirs. There are no birds chirping outside. There are no students walking down dormroom halls to communal bathrooms. There are no roommate alarms blaring, only mine. 

I eat the same breakfast by myself every morning like a robot. I take the smallest pot off the mantlepiece, pour a half cup of oatmeal in the pot, add water and milk, flaxseed, sesame seed, and wait for the boil. I don’t add too much maple syrup. I turn on the kettle and wait for that to boil too. I make coffee. I stare at my plants. I bring my breakfast into my room. I turn on the lamp in my still-dark room and eat my oatmeal while scrolling through lifeless tweets. I know, miserable. 

I didn’t think I missed seeing people but I miss seeing people. There’s a difference between socializing and just being with people. I don’t always want to have “coffee” with you but I would like to sit in a cafe where I can be among people. Instead, I sit in bed and stare at my computer screen. 

This summer, I spent my entire day coding. I was underpaid and I disliked my boss, but it gave me a routine, a structure, and something to do every day. Going into the Fall semester, I’d expected to take four classes and enjoy having free time for once. I got cold feet and added a fifth class before submitting my schedule. That’s when I found out that I don’t actually like free time. 

That’s why I’m at a loss when it comes to dealing with burn out. When my friend suggested I practice self care, I was reluctant to tell her that I can’t stand the idea of self care. Since quarantine, I’ve done 60 yoga sessions. I know this because I use a yoga app that sings calm music while telling me how to stretch. I’ve plucked my eyebrows and worn facial masks more times than I can count. Perhaps self care itself has become tiring because I don’t engage with the spiritual aspect of self care, whatever that is. On Instagram, I see people flaunting crystals and talking about their heart chakras. Those people are also trying to sell things to me. 

I wonder if the loneliness created by the pandemic is something I can adapt to. And should I? Do I need to brace myself for this same loneliness when I finally graduate and no longer live in a two mile radius from all my friends? Should I be able to sit in an apartment alone? Should I enjoy quiet mornings? Perhaps I’m overthinking. 

I don’t like thinking about the experiences I’ve lost due to Covid-19, or the habits and paranoia I’ve built up due to Covid-19. More people have had it worse. If anything, a college student is probably best equipped to withstand the pandemic. We’re young enough to avoid most health risks and economic burdens. We’re old enough to handle Zoom school and remote work. 

But I’m scared. I’m scared for the wintertime to come, when I can no longer move all my indoor interactions outside. I’m scared to face how lonely I’ll become.