Page five: escapism
The desire to escape – physically or mentally – is a common coping mechanism and one I have exploited consistently for the last six months. Escapism has taken many forms for me since we entered lockdown, from the simple and trivial to the literal and medical.
Like most it started with endless doom-scrolling, unable to tear myself away from updates, commentary on the updates and comments on the commentary of the updates. My usual distractions weren't working in the way they used to, because they required engagement. I was lucky enough to work from home but ultimately used up my engagement quota doing emails, enquiries, meetings and projects. My usual crutches weren't any good because they involved doing things that were now banned; seeing friends, hugging people, sex, taking in an exhibition, reading in a cafe, a night in the pub, taking public transport somewhere, leaving London. I caved and downloaded Animal Crossing so that I could channel my lack of power into controlling my own island filled with eccentric animals. Engaging both my hands and my mind, as well as being able to play online with friends, truly kept me going for a long time.
Words haven't cooperated with me in lockdown. Writing anything has been near impossible bar the odd piece that had a deadline. Reading was an elusive treat that only occurred on rare occasions until recently. A version of this piece has existed for months, trying to capture something about coping with lockdown and quarantine, how the isolation was affecting myself and others, but it was too hard. It is often said that one cannot write about a something difficult or traumatic until it's over, which this isn't, but we're in a less acute phase (for now).
Sometimes when my brain is scrambled and languid, I get the urge to google a memory because I want to replay, relive and re-feel that experience. It only lasts a split-second until I realise its impossibility but it always leaves me with a melancholic aftertaste. During the last few months I've wished I could conjure feelings of intimacy and sociality when I have felt touch-starved and lonely, only to feel the lack more strongly. It becomes easier as time goes on because we're a species of adaption; we normalise things to survive, even if they're not good for us.
It comes as no surprise that it all became too much, for distraction only works for so long without relief if the root cause cannot be excised. Isolation for an extended period is rarely good for humans even when it has been chosen. In fact, some choose isolation as an escape from what they believe is trapping or antagonising them. But to be in isolation with the knowledge that life continues outside is a vastly different experience to being one of millions isolated from life, loved ones and normality because of a foreign, unknown body.
There have been plagues before this, but not on this scale in the digital age. The disconnect between mind and body has been unsettling, if not unhealthy. FaceTiming a parent, online drinks and Zoom dates provided mental and emotional relief, only for that tang of melancholy to return after hanging up. No farewell hug or kiss, no journey home to mark the change in time and location. We're back where we started, left with no evidence of the last hour or two bar an empty, sticky glass.
When we were allowed to bubble (a very modern verb) I escaped to Scotland, to stay with my Mum in a coastal village in Argyll. It's something I wish everyone had had the option to do. The contrast of the enclosed space of my bedroom to the open vista of the Cowal peninsula was profound, however on-the-nose it was. Living closer to nature is often an exercise in remembering the insignificance of oneself. All this has been here for so much longer than us and will most likely outlive us (although perhaps not the next generation). Physical space gives way to mental space which gives way to emotional space. My bandwidth increased exponentially by being somewhere I felt safe and free. My capacity for hope and excitement for the future returned.
We are not all in the same boat, as they say, but the same storm. Loosely unified by the same adversary, most of us are enduring the political uncertainty and global pandemic together, each with different struggles and lack but a sense of solidarity. I still want to escape, to feel safe and free again, to skip forward this coming season. All signs point to it growing worse again and I can only hope and trust that the past six months have taught us a little more about how to weather a crisis better. I hope you find your escapism, for I so dearly want to see you all on the other side.
On the theme of isolation, I have a short personal essay in the first issue of The Fat Zine! The first 600 copies have sold out but there are plans to reprint. You can have a look here.
Image credit Amy Page ©2006