THE FIRST TRIP

The First Trip

A few days ago, I wrapped my dog’s yellow bandanna around my head, tied it as tightly as I could, and got in the car to go shopping for the first time since coming home.

I wish I could say that the bravery to work my way through this came from me, but it was only after significant prompting from my parents that I agreed to try. Just the idea made my palms sweat and my breath quicken, because I was about to confront, for the first time, my fear of the actual coronavirus.

Staying inside except for walking the dog (and staying well more than six feet away from everyone) was all I’d done for weeks. The idea of going into a building - a confined space where one person could cough and infect everyone - frightened me greatly, especially without a proper mask. From the second I got out of the car and noticed it was parked right next to another one, I felt aware of my breath and body like I haven’t in years - and not in a good way.

When I was little, I used to think that I could “filter” germs out by trying to breathe only through the gap between my front teeth, which was later fixed with braces. I used to think spitting out the side of my mouth would help, particularly if I was drinking from a water fountain I considered dirty. Germs were more than an everyday part of my life, and it took me years to get to the point where I wasn’t washing my hands constantly, holding my breath whenever I knew sick people were nearby, or staying away from people who had been sick even if they’d been better for weeks.

I hadn’t felt like that in years, but when the pandemic started, I felt it starting again. If I heard anyone cough, I didn’t yell like some of my coworkers did, but I did make a conscious effort to stay far away. On the last day my company was open, I asked my boss to work from home; others asked because they were taking care of children or other responsibilities, but I was asking because I knew I would be concentrating on the fact that my cubicle is in the hallway and many people walk by each day instead of, well, working. It was such an immense relief when she said yes that I promised myself I would stay inside to keep feeling the relief from that unwanted anxiety… but I can’t stay inside forever.

My state is mostly open now. It’s early, most people agree, but my parents have been going out for weeks and getting groceries and doing things the family needed, with me not contributing. It was time for me to help, but I needed some help in order to get it done.

When we got to the store, Dad gave me two missions: pick out some pretty flowers for the house, and find the apple cereal bars I like and bring back a few boxes. He was off in a flash as I watched the people milling around, only about half in masks, not lined up six feet away like they were by the outside of the store, but shopping close to each other like everything was completely normal.

The flowers were easiest to start with, both in terms of fewer people and the fact that it was right by the entrance. I didn’t have to go far to pick out a bouquet of red and yellow flowers that I’d never seen before, but they looked pretty, and picking them up gave me something to do with my hands even though I was now aware I’d touched something in the store.

I started trying to find Dad, pacing towards the bread aisle, going farther and farther back. Even if I still believed in any of my old strategies, I soon realized it would have been impossible to do them in such a tight space. Just like in a grocery store in ordinary times, people were passing each other in the same aisle, standing in the middle of aisles like roadblocks, and seemingly unaware of the germs that might have been in the air.

I ended up finding the cereal bars, but only after going on almost every aisle of the store. I could feel my breath hot against the bandanna, and I tried as much as I could to slow it and to look for ways to keep myself busy. Once I’d touched the flowers, I figured I could touch other things too, so I tried to help with the actual mission of getting groceries.

The line at the end was hard since it was so long and slow-moving, but finally, Dad and I made it outside. We took off our bandannas (he did his right away, but I waited until I was in the car), and as soon as I got home and washed my hands, I started to feel safe again.

Most people I know have been doing much more than one reluctant Trader Joe’s trip with a minimal number of purchased items. But for me, it was a huge step. I’m now trying to get a mask so I can feel a little more comfortable going out, and maybe soon I’ll even be able to do the trips solo, or stay in the store for longer than the absolute minimum amount of time.

This whole time, I’ve been very scared of everything happening in the world, disconcerted by the changes to how everything works, and alarmed at the news, but I didn’t realize when I was isolated at home that I was so afraid of the actual virus. It was an incredibly strange blast from the past, and even though it was easier to put aside my fears when I felt a stitch in my chest a few days later, I was still feeling germaphobic obsessive thoughts like I hadn’t in years.

I don’t know how I’m going to deal with everything opening, considering this. I’ll probably do something similar to this trip, but in greater numbers, and then see if I can gradually expose myself to things I’m more afraid of without exposing myself to the virus itself. It’s a tricky balance, but I’m going to do my best to be brave in the days ahead.

(Even with most things in the Chicago area still closed, I hope you all stay home and stay safe!)

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.

BACK TO NORMAL?

Back To Normal?

This week, I’ve been getting a lot of messages from people who know I’m out of town, asking me what I’m going to be doing tomorrow. My state is going to be opening things again, and although it’s what I’ve wanted for a while, I can’t help but feel increasingly anxious.

It’s true that I’ve felt very out of sorts about everywhere being closed, but I also feel that it’s the safer option. I’m still too afraid, both of catching coronavirus myself and spreading it to family members at higher risk, to go out and do anything at all. I can’t even imagine going to the grocery store, let alone a movie theater, bowling alley, or restaurant.

I’ve decided, in the immediate future, I won’t be going anywhere. I’m staying home where it’s safest, but the fact that even some of the states are reopening made me think about the fact that I’ll eventually be returning to Chicago after the longest time I’ve lived at home since going to college.

These last few weeks have helped me stay so much calmer than I thought I could be under conditions like these, especially since I spent a large part of my childhood analyzing every cough and sneeze for imaginary germs without anything real to worry about. It’s disconcerting to have to worry about real germs, and so I’ve stayed home except for brief walks outside. It’s easiest to keep the thoughts of catching or transmitting coronavirus at bay this way, but it doesn’t negate the fact that, at some point, I will be going back to Chicago, and things are still likely to be far from normal when I return.

I wasn’t nervous at all to come home, but I am definitely nervous to head back to Chicago, whenever that may be. When I left Chicago, I was heading home, where I knew what my routine would look like and I was guaranteed to be around my parents and dog instead of being alone. When it comes time to go back to Chicago, I’ll be alone, likely not able to do many of the social activities I’ve done in the last several months, and everything will be unsure. I’ll probably still even be afraid of the virus every time I sneeze or feel congested without an obvious explanation, and unlike being at home, I will have to go to stores and work in person instead of staying safe the way I feel most comfortable.

It’s a conundrum I don’t know how to answer: I feel so much safer here at home, but at the same time, I have my friends and work and various activities (and a potential dating prospect) in Chicago, plus my independence. There’s a big part of me that would love to be able to go back and see everyone when it’s safe, but another part of me is terrified that work will call me back too soon, I won’t have time to prepare, and I won’t be able to see people, making it even more isolating. I’m afraid of the anxiety spike likely to come at that point, and the concern is even seeping into my life now, when I’m still safe at home.

In the absence of concrete plans, I’m preparing for the trip back to Chicago in other ways. I’m getting a few video games to play when I get back, borrowing books from my dad, and doing my best to stay in touch with everyone in Chicago so I won’t feel as lonely in the beginning. It’s the best I can do without knowing when I might be going back, if it’s in a week or a month or even longer, but I feel like I have to do things like this to help counteract the negative thoughts telling me I’m going to go from a peaceful place with people I love to a small apartment by myself where my anxiety will spike uncontrollably.

And although many people are talking about the future, I’m trying to focus on the present, even so much as to ignore what will happen tomorrow. I have to read certain headlines for work, but I’m avoiding reading or watching any news about coronavirus beyond that. I’m trying to keep my routine as normal as possible, and trying not to think of the return trip to Chicago and everything that will have changed by the time I get there.

I know I’m not alone in feeling anxiety spikes like this. Many friends have expressed feelings of loneliness, loss, and depression while all of this is going on, as well as a deep fear of the uncertain times to come. In these times, forming a community is more important than ever, and I hope that all of you are able to reach out to friends and family and rely on support from therapists and organizations like No Shame On U to get through it. Whether we go back to normal (or some approximation of normal) sooner or later, I hope we can have a smooth transition and minimal anxiety to enjoy the things we’ve missed during the quarantine.

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.

THE BEST DISTRACTION FOR NOW

The Best Distraction For Now

The day before I traveled home, a new video game came out that has been an enormous help to me - Animal Crossing: New Horizons.

The basic point of the game is to create a little town (or, in this case, island) and just live in it. That’s literally all - there’s no way to objectively “win” whether you play by yourself or with friends. The only point is to live a calm, peaceful life.

On the surface, it might seem like a very boring game. There aren’t quests to do, unless you count the little maintenance tasks you can do around the island every day. There aren’t clear benchmarks that tell you how far you are in the plot. And, unlike many games, you can’t just play through the whole thing in one sitting - the game works in real time, so every holiday, birthday, and regular day is special.

I was a little ambivalent about buying this game, especially since it was my last outing in Chicago. I didn’t know if it would be the caliber of entertainment I would need to distract me through everything that was bound to happen ahead. I didn’t know if I would like it, or if it would be too simple or boring or any of a dozen other things that would mean it’s not worth my money. But I knew this game had a huge social component (which is why I didn’t like the one I played years ago, as I had no one to play it with), and I knew several of my friends who had it already and said it was wonderful.

Ultimately, I was starting to get scared I wouldn’t have enough distractions regardless of their quality, so I bought the game and took it with me on the long drive home. Finally settled in, I started to play.

I sank into the game as quickly as I fell in love with my all-time favorite games. New Horizons isn’t like any of those games in that it doesn’t have a complex plot, characters with deep, intriguing backstories, or a villain to defeat and a chance to play the hero. Instead, it offered me something I love in video games but don’t usually seek out: a refuge.

On the little island I named Keene thanks to its native fruit, peaches (it’s peachy Keene!), I live with ten adorable animals, all of whom like me, and together we decorate the island with hundreds of flowers, winding paths around waterfalls, and shops filled with beautiful clothes I can combine into countless cosplay-like outfits.

On my island, coronavirus doesn’t exist. Sure, there are masks in-game, but I haven’t worn them. There are no news outlets that I flip past because they fill me with dread. There are no conversations about much more than the day’s progress, the weather, and upcoming holidays. There are a thousand little tasks to do to the point that I can fill a whole day in the real world playing on my virtual island, growing fruit trees and decorating my house, fishing and planting and shopping.

When I’m looking for a distraction, I usually seek games with hundreds of quests, something new to find in every corner, and stories I can sink my teeth into. But I’m discovering that at a time like this, the distraction I seek is not something where I have to overthink, where all my choices have consequences and everything is angsty.

My perfect distraction for now is something that lets me take a break from thinking, that helps me connect to my friends (we visit each others’ islands frequently over online play) at a time when many people are feeling lonely, and offers me a sandbox for my ideas where anything can work - plus with gorgeous graphics.

I wouldn’t usually seek out something like New Horizons as a distraction, but now that things are changing so fast in the real world, it’s wonderful to have a safe haven where everything is right and the world works in a familiar way. I know many of my friends are seeking distractions like this in hobbies that appeal to them - they’re learning to crochet, joining online book clubs, and finding ways to engage the brain in a more pleasant way than constant worry about the future. I hope all of you find your own distractions for this time, even if they’re not your usual distractions, and they help us make it through safe in body and mind!

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.

EMBRACING MY INNER LAWN GNOME

Embracing My Inner Lawn Gnome

I pulled into Nana’s neighborhood as stealthily as I could in a bright red car, parking across the street and then hopping out into the sunshine. I crept up to her windows, where her blinds were closed, and called her on the phone.

“I heard you requested the granddaughter lawn gnome?”

She asked me what I was talking about, confusion clear in her voice.

“The granddaughter lawn gnome has been delivered,” I continued, and finally, she opened the blinds.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on her face when she saw me standing in the bushes in her yard, dodging large bees as I waved enthusiastically.

It was even happier, I think, than she was when I called to tell her I’d be coming home for Passover, back before “coronavirus” sounded more like something out of a sci-fi novel than real life.

And, surprisingly, I found that my visit made me happy, too, even though it wasn’t at all the reunion I’d hoped for. I stayed on the phone with her for almost half an hour standing on her lawn like a very oversized gnome, and the distance between us felt so small once I could see her face smiling so widely at me.

I didn’t think I’d be sad, exactly, to see her that way, but it’s been extremely hard for the both of us to accept that we can’t see each other, even after the two weeks of self-quarantining I’ve been doing in my parents’ house. It’s still too dangerous, she told me, and unlike most of the negative thoughts in my head, the thought that I could infect and potentially even kill her if I see her too soon is all too real.

The lawn gnome maneuver was my solution to hating the fact that she was alone, 20 minutes away, and accepting no visitors for her own health. It was my way of doing a little bit of what we both needed, especially because we couldn’t do what we actually need: a proper Seder, a warm hug, everything we’ve been missing since we last saw each other in December.

When I first heard that she was afraid of seeing me, it felt like another blow in a long string of everything getting taken away - everything from simple trips to the grocery store to conventions months away are getting messed up, and even being at home, it’s hard to stop myself from being scared. I’ve read enough disease-based apocalypse novels that my imagination has plenty of fodder, and the fact that I always think ten (if not more) steps down the line means I can already see how some of these scenarios might look.

This week has been an important balance of talking things out - airing out my thoughts and seeing what my family and friends think of them, and helping them in return - and coming up with things I can do right now, without waiting for the crisis to be over. Some sort of distraction even beyond work and video games, and hopefully, a way to help out along the way.

This mindset is how the lawn gnome idea came about, but it hasn’t been easy. I’m sure I’m far from the only person struggling with disappointment, fear, anger, and sadness during this time. It’s even harder without a deadline or an end in sight. But as my friends and family have counselled me, I’m trying to live one day at a time and find something that makes me - and hopefully others - smile, even if just for a short time. It might be silly, and it might involve hanging out in bushes for longer than I’ve ever done in my life, but this adventure - and the resulting smiles on both ends - was definitely worth it.

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.

FINDING THE "NEW NORMAL" THIS PASSOVER

Finding The “New Normal” This Passover

As Passover approaches, I can’t help but feel like, how it says in the Four Questions, this year is different from all other years.

The differences scare me. Friends are cancelling their weddings, losing their jobs, or finding it increasingly hard to stay afloat as they are trapped alone in their apartments. I’m thankful every day that I managed to make it home, but even home isn’t like it usually is, considering it’s now a bulwark from the world instead of a vacation.

I’ve written and rewritten this post what feels like a million times. I know I’m luckier than many people, including my aforementioned friends. I’m healthy, as of today; I’m quarantining myself from Nana for only a few more days to make 2 full weeks; I’m safe in a home that has an adequate supply of toilet paper. But that still doesn’t make it easy to see so many people falling into the thought patterns and behaviors I fought so hard to get rid of, and to struggle with them myself at one of my favorite times of the year.

Passover has always been my favorite Jewish holiday, and all I wanted this year was to have a  “normal” Passover. By that, I mean the small Seder I’m used to with my parents and Nana, with everyone doing the parts they love best and just being happy together.

I’ve seen a lot of people using the phrase “the new normal” as the coronavirus pandemic drags on, and may continue for what seems like months. When I first saw this phrase, I scoffed. How was any of this supposed to be “normal?”

I’ve moved back home - something I haven’t done since college - with my laptop, some video games, and a few stuffed animals. I’m working from my childhood bedroom, and yet, nothing is as it was when I lived here for real. I still have a few more days until I can see Nana, who at 91 years old is high-risk. None of this is “normal,” and nothing is likely to be normal for a while, if the cancellations many months out are any indication.

I’m trying to tell myself that, although I have an idealized version of Passover in my head, real life never quite hits every point of that fantasy. My family celebrates at home now, instead of at Nana’s old apartment that she moved away from years ago. We have the dog with us now, because we’re at my parents’ house. And technically, I’ve never actually kept Passover kashrut laws, even during the Seder itself.

I’ve celebrated Passover over video chat from the middle of an anime convention, over the phone in college, and in the hospital. I’ve made it work, no matter how shitty it feels. And it’s what I - and everyone - am working towards now: a new normal.

Normal has to mean seeing my friends and going on dates virtually, as opposed to in real life. Normal has to mean shifting everything in my routine from my diet and exercise habits to the hours that I work, considering I’m in a different time zone now.

Normal has to mean that instead of using my work planner, I’m using a “Quarantine Quest” journal from The Hero’s Journal to help me feel gratitude for what I still have and look forward to what may come in the future.

But normal also has to mean giving up on some things I was dreaming of, and trying to find my way from anger and frustration to accepting that I can’t, in fact, change this situation.

Long story short, I’m trying to move forward like it shows in this graph my dad sent me this morning. I’m not in the “growth zone,” not yet. I’m taking things day by day, sometimes minute by minute, and trying to let go of the iron grip of control I hold over as much of my life as possible. I’ve got a system for which news I read, and what I discuss with friends and family. If I see people panicking, I’m not yet in a good enough spot to help them work through their negative thoughts, but I am able to help distract them to put their mind in a happier place.

I’m trying to see this Passover as a chance to move from a bad situation to a better one. It’s usually glossed over, at least at my family’s Seder, that the Israelites spent 40 years in the desert before reaching the land of Israel. There was no instant new, perfect world even in a story about going from a bad place to a good place. There’s a middle ground, better than what was, but not the place of dreams coming true or even a normal life.

This Passover, I hope all of us can find a better place each day than we were in the day before, as we seek out both our “new normal” and a meaningful holiday.

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.