These 4 Walls Week 1

Little and poor sleep. Mornings start around 5.30am even on the weekends. I spend hours absorbing the sunlight pouring through my window.

Just out of spite and fear, my ex and I start talking again for a brief spell of familiarity.

Self portrait of a femme woman sitting on a sofa with a steaming cup of something, basking in the light coming through the window
Self portrait of a femme woman leaning against a window

It’s difficult to get true breaks from work. I feel guilty when I take fresh air breaks, so the window becomes my new best friend. Even with the lack of sleep, I start feeling rested. Is this what living slowly feels like?

Close up of a steaming cup of coffee in front of a window, sunlight blasting through it
Self portrait of a femme woman working with a laptop on a wooden antique bureau, backlit by bright sunlight coming through the window
Self portrait of a femme woman closing the shutters, backlit by bright sunlight coming through the window

Routine prevents me from slipping into endless cycles of panic eating. A few days in and work piles up more than ever before. It’s an odd thing to complain about while thousands of people get furloughed.

Self portrait of a femme woman smoking an ecigarrette on her sofa against a colourful wall and quilt
Self portrait of a femme woman staring into the camera while she lays on the floor smiling in a messy living room
Self portrait of a femme woman staring at the ceiling while she lays on the floor looking sad in a messy living room
Self portrait of a femme woman staring into space off camera, having an anxiety attack in the kitchen

My mental health starts to deteriorate. I’m “fine” for one minute, and explode into uncontrollable sobbing the next. I lean on sport and yoga to distract myself from the pain.

The figure of a femme woman practicing downward dog on a mirror, her face off frame
A pair of slippers and a pair of sports shoes left by a door frame, as if they had just been discarded

It comes to a point that isolation is normal. It can feel normal.

Disassociation is normal. Or is it?

“How can any of this be normal?” I keep asking myself. Phone calls with friends and family are the new norm. I joke that I have a richer social life now than ever before.

I keep a list of those who will pick up the phone.

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