Depressing quarantined rant

The Danish government said “Fuck you, two more weeks of lockdown.” So that means these strange times will be dragged on longer, and my isolation will increase, just like the chances of going mad. Fuck. More drama to my mess list: injured, psychologically damaged and emotionally broken. If it wasn’t because one of my best friends here broke his own quarantine to come visit for a couple of hours, I would be declared officially insane by week’s end.
Days in solitude keep piling up. Almost two months now of a singleness that feels more like an insult than a relief. The cold side of the bed expands an inch every night, becoming an abyss into the void. I bike away from my confinement and postpone the daily sleeplessness as much as possible with tv shows I don’t even watch. “There’s nothing to look forward to,” I realize each dawn, struggling to get up. Coffee in the morning tastes bitter without somebody’s presence across the table. I whisper her name, sometimes, and a fugitive tear escapes my eyes.
Remove all social interactions from a single expat and observe how quickly he turns brittle and sad. How loneliness and existential pondering takes over his very core. Just a shadow, he’ll become, of the man who used to smile. Full of regrets and sorrow, he’ll live off of those tender moments now past. Thinking of the winter days when somebody loved him, even when he couldn’t walk.
Netflix, anyone?

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *