Marvin&Company: Stories About Death And Entrepreneurship

I’m reading Cecily Strong’s book, This Will All Be Over Soon, about her lockdown experience. I highly recommend it – she has words for my experience that I’ve struggled to find for 18 months. As if she’s in my head. If you have unresolved lockdown trauma and need a good cry, seriously read this book.

She’s grieving out loud. It’s so personal, I feel like we’re friends now. Not in a creepy stalker way (I swear). Like I want to call to ask how today is and if she’s drinking enough water. That’s the kind of writer I want to be – we’re friends now, Reader, because I’m sharing my broken brain with you. Please be kind.

Recently, on a much-too-long car trip, my friend and I made the mistake of discussing Big Feelings while we were both in awful moods. Now, these awful moods had not one thing to do with each other, but suddenly there were Big Feelings in the car along with our awful moods and multiple hours left to drive.

Side note: if you’re ever on a long car trip with someone you like, and you’re both in awful moods, talk about things that don’t matter. Listen to your favorite band and point out the weird looking trees. Avoid, at all costs, anything the elicits emotions of any kind. It leads nowhere good. With this advice unheeded, we ended up discussing Covid Lockdown.

Although we’ve spent most of our days together for the past five years, we had extremely different lockdown experiences. I’m still shaken. For me, there aren’t enough words to describe those dark days. I’ve managed depression and anxiety my whole life and never in my 44 years has my brain been in such a scary place as those 96 days. When I emerged on Day 97, the day a handful of us tentatively returned to the office together and began sorting out the early days of New Normal, my mental health was abysmal. I was barely treading water (and the water was also on fire).

My friend’s perspective is that it happened and it’s over. In retrospect everything was fine. And it was actually fine – they’re not wrong. The reality is that we were incredibly lucky. We went home to watch Netflix with our families and, while it was scary at times, it was ultimately okay. The company hung on, no one lost their jobs or paychecks, our loved ones remained healthy. And now lockdown is over! Life continued and we don’t need to talk about it anymore!

So why do I still cry every time I think about those 96 days? Why do I sometimes have to set down Cecily’s book with shaking hands and take deep breaths because it’s like she’s in my head? What’s wrong with me? Shouldn’t I be better now that I know we all lived?

My friend says I need to learn how to let things go. I need to be better at compartmentalization. It’s frustrating to them sometimes that I’m still so messed up over something that wasn’t really that bad. Why do I still need to talk about it?

Those 96 days haunt me and I can’t explain why. Part of me feels ashamed and weak, but I’ve lived through some things (we all have – and it’s SO NOT OKAY to judge anyone else’s trauma). This is what I can’t wrap my head around, though. I’ve managed to keep on keeping on in seemingly much worse circumstances. So WTF is it about lockdown?

I’ve experienced trauma and loss and heartbreak that by all rational comparison was far worse than 96 days of Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns. I don’t have the right words, and although Cecily comes closer than my therapist or anyone else I’ve spoken to about this, I still can’t quite find them.

Here’s one of the things that still hurts to think about. My friend in the car refused to see me during lockdown. In the beginning I understood, no one knew what was happening and we’re in New York, the epicenter of scary in the earliest days of Covid. By mid-May, however, almost everyone I knew had started socially distanced outdoor meetups, yet one of the people I love most in the world – who had no underlying health conditions – didn’t want to see me in a setting every expert agreed was probably safe. My heart hurt missing this person, and I wasn’t important enough for a slight inconvenience. I know, I know, they had their own trauma response (although they won’t call it that because lockdown wasn’t traumatic!) and this is just what their fear looked like. I should respect that. It’s not fair for me to expect them to change themselves for my comfort. It hurt though. It hurt and they don’t want to talk about it, only tell me I am wrong for being upset still.

I still feel so broken and I miss the person I used to be. I don’t think she’s coming back. The worst part, I think, is having so many (highly inconvenient) Big Feelings that one of my best friends thinks are just excessive. I shouldn’t still be like this, and yet here we are.

So what are the right words? I am well aware how strange it is that I’m still so fucking sad about 96 days that happened a year and a half ago, but now I know it’s not just me. This actor I’ve watched every Saturday night for like 8 years is having a hard time too. That’s validating, right?. I know all of this and still I am close to tears writing about it. I want to ask Cecily to help me explain. She has better words than me. She felt the things I feel and wrote a whole book about it. I want to tell her she helped and I appreciate her.

I hope she’s drinking enough water. I want her to be okay.