This Is Now
Early in the evening of my sixth day of quarantine after returning to Chicago, I finished reading a book.
It’s not at all an unusual circumstance for me, and I have a pile of books waiting for me on the lowest shelf of my bookshelf (two shelves below my Tolkien shelf sagging from the weight of everything I’ve piled on there). I found six books I’d bought used on eBay before I even heard the word “coronavirus,” and I’d forgotten what all of them were about.
Two were classic fantasy fare, one was sci-fi, another humor. One was based on a TV show some of my friends told me was funny, and the last one was a collection of short stories I suddenly remembered being very excited about.
I briefly wondered why I hadn’t taken it home when I remembered the premise of the book: it deals with themes of death. I remembered packing to return home, holding the book in my hands before returning it to the shelf. I was panicked enough, I thought. I didn’t need something to remind me of some of my worst obsessive fears or trigger horribly upsetting memories.
But as I held the book on the sixth day of quarantine - which, like the blood test I got shortly before returning to Chicago, went far more smoothly than I expected - I found that I wasn’t upset. Even as part of me tried to convince myself to read one of the fantasy books or even the humorous one, I wanted to read this one. It had an intriguing premise, and short stories are a great fit for the way I’m running my life in quarantine: lots of activities, working out as much as I can in the confines of my apartment, and keeping ahead of all my chores.
The thoughts I had in my head at that moment reminded me of something I’ve been telling myself, that I hadn’t connected to my deeper fears of the past: that was then, this is now.
Ever since I got back to Chicago and had an easier transition than I expected, I’ve had to tell myself that phrase many times in a day. Every time I expect to break down crying or revert to old, bad habits, I need to remind myself that just because I thought or behaved a certain way in the past doesn’t mean I am guaranteed to do so again.
Applied to the situation of choosing a new book, I’m not guaranteed to resurrect old obsessions or negative thoughts merely because I see the word “death” on a book cover or read a book with death as a major theme. And this principle can apply to so many things - I was able to try a new food (kale noodles) this week by telling myself that just because I had reacted with extreme fear to trying new foods in the past didn’t mean I needed to do so again, and I was also able to take a surprisingly optimistic take on my COVID swab test earlier in the day.
I had been afraid, even though I knew there would be no blood involved, because I knew there would be a lot of people and things triggering my fear of all things abnormal in medicine. But on the walk over, I told myself that just because I had been afraid of these things in the past didn’t mean I was about to panic. I could wait and see how I felt, and hopefully, things would be all right.
Sure enough, when I got there, I was more than a little nervous, but I used the same distraction techniques I use in hospitals and at the hematologist’s office to keep myself from fixating on the things that scare me. And I used my new mantra at every step of the way, starting when the nurse came over to get my vitals and I put my finger in the same pulse ox machine I had to wear in the hospital.
This is now, I thought as the numbers took a little too long to calibrate for my liking, but the numbers were totally fine. Before I knew it, I was taking the test, the swab going so far inside my nose I could practically feel it tickling my brain.
This is now, I thought when I spent the next hour watching doctors and nurses go over to people one by one. I was outside in the sunshine. I could stand. I was wearing my Lord of the Rings mask. Things had definitely improved since back then.
This is now, I thought when I was finally able to walk home, knowing I was breathing the last fresh air I’d have for the next eight days, but even though I knew I’d be back at my apartment soon, I could still enjoy my brief time outside.
I can’t even begin to say how many times I’ve told myself in the last six days that “that was then, this is now.” It’s becoming the mantra of my quarantine, something to remind me that every day has the possibility to be something new. Even though I’m trapped in certain routines and unable to do many of the things I enjoy right now, I can still create new experiences for myself. Hopefully, over time, these will push out my scarier memories and leave me with both a more positive outlook and the ability to try new things with less fear.
Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.