Leaving London, Locking down in Leitrim and Life-Changing Loneliness
In a couple of days I’ll be visiting Dublin to see friends. It’ll be my first time to see people I’d consider friends, in real life, in almost four months, which is something I never thought I’d have to say. The reason for this, of course, is the coronavirus lockdown. Before which, I thought I knew what track I was on. I had made a home for myself in East London, had routines, locals, and had built my own little world. As anyone who’s ever lived in London will tell you, it was draining and difficult but I adored it. I had no plans to leave.
Enter Covid-19! The virus many of us didn’t even contract, but messed up our lives anyway. As soon as I started to notice the worrying incompetence of the Boris-led UK government, I began to realise I was safer locking down in Ireland. And while health is crucial, part of me still feels bitter that I had to uproot my whole life for an illness I didn’t even have. I’m very aware of how dangerous it could’ve been, but it was still a very difficult decision to make.
The few people I told I was thinking of leaving London expressed their disappointment that I was leaving the city they knew I loved. One told me to think long and hard before I had any decisions, and I wished I could’ve taken his advice. I didn’t have the luxury of time and I was suddenly found myself at the mercy of the UK and Irish governments, airports and airlines. I was relying on their unpredictable pandemic policy to allow me to see my family. So I packed up the apartment I had spent almost two years making a home in. I walked through a completely empty Stansted Airport and an even emptier Dublin Airport and made my way to my family home in Leitrim. The home I left a few days after my 18th birthday almost 12 years prior.
I quarantined in the front room for two weeks, as per WHO recommendations. The first week was spent catching up on sleep and knocking amusement out of the mini kitchen my mother had set up, and the notes my dad would leave on the tray at the door with meals. And honestly, I’ll never forget the kindness and empathy sent from friends that week. People who follow me online, some who’d never messaged me before sent me the loveliest words of support. It made me feel like I was’t crazy for feeling as sad as I was.
By the second week, the gravity of the decision I’d made began to hit. It became all too apparent that I was now living in an area I had no friends in. No full-time job to distract myself with. Had just spent a fortune having my belongings shipped. But worst of all, Ireland was now in the thick of the lockdown. 2km restrictions. Any feeling of normality for me was far, far beyond that limit.
My two-week quarantine came and went, so too did the strict restrictions. I was finally able to give my parents a hug (my first bit of human touch in over 40 days). I went grocery shopping and even got a takeaway coffee. Those small acts gave me a small bit of independence and normality. Reminiscent of the life I had before; back when I called all my own shots and decided when and what I was doing everyday. Lattes and LOLs. The life of a footloose and fancy-free 29 year old in the hipster capital of Great Britain.
It’s now been almost 3 months since I returned to rural Ireland. The land of boiled potatoes and petty village gossip. I’d be lying if I said that this is where I’d like to have spent the finale months of my twenties. It’s been loneliness I can’t even describe. For reasons both obvious and not. Some day I might elaborate on how it all felt, but for now I’ll say this; I used to think the phrase “I miss you so much it hurts“ wasn’t to be taken literally. I honestly didn’t realise your body can react to loneliness this way this before.
A stickler for the rules; I haven’t ventured outside of my travel distance. Would I like to? I’d love to. My mental health has taken a battering, and all I wanted to do is sit on a friend’s couch and have a real-life conversation about how hard it’s all been. But I appreciate that the rules were put in place for a reason, and I want to respect the advice of the medical and scientific communities.
I take comfort in the knowledge that the end is in sight, in terms of travel restrictions at least. I’d love to conclude by telling you about all of the wonderful lessons I’ve learned, or the silver lining to all of this. But my heart is drained and my mind is frazzled, and honestly, I can’t think of anything. Right now, at least. I’ve been keeping a lockdown diary that I’m hoping will seem wise and profound in years to come. I’m hoping that, despite my doubts, I will have learned something from all of this and that it will lead to some momentous life improvement. I’ll be a better person in a better world by the time this is all over. That’s the hope, at least.
For now, at least, I’m just happy to have survived it. Sometimes that’s enough. Sometimes it has to be.
