Letters from Lockdown 45: Jasmine Chenery

I’m bored of talking about it. I’m bored of the debates on when the shops will open. I’m bored of analysing the statistics on how likely I am to die. I feel awful for saying it, because it’s certainly not boring for everyone suffering (directly or indirectly). But I am bored.

I’m bored of being special. I don’t like being patronised because I’m high risk. It takes me back to diagnoses and hospital stays where I’m overcome with unwanted attention – made to feel like I’m different. I don’t want to be different. I spend all of my energy and attention trying to live like a normal 21 year old. Why does it have to take away an image I worked so hard to build?

I’m bored of looking over every inch of my body – since I now have the time – and condemning every part of it. Rolling every pound lost or gained over my tongue until it tastes bitter enough to spit out. Was that bit of fat the same way yesterday, or is it worse? My thumb is stuck to an Instagram explore page and it won’t let go. 

I’m bored of revising for exams as if nothing has changed. I’m bored of struggling in a student house and emailing lecturers across the country for support as if it could ever be the same as an office hour. I’m bored of saying students younger than me have nothing to complain about, when we all have something huge to complain about. I’m bored of watching money drain away going to a university that could care less if I continue to exist or not, as long as they get their payday. 

I’m bored of walking the same route. I despise routine and I’ve been forced into it. I’m bored of being in my head all of the time, yet there’s nowhere else to go. I’m bored of feeling like I’m screaming until my lungs are dissolving and nothing even comes out. I’m so ridiculously bored of waking up and feeling sick when I remember that this is the world I am living in. 

I’m bored of judging people for complaining when they ‘could have it worse’, then complaining the same way myself. I’m bored of comparing how unfortunate we are, and invalidating rants like these because I haven’t truly suffered as a result of this disease. I’m bored of walking on eggshells, only saying the right thing. In many ways we are privileged, that does not mean we are not allowed to struggle. 

And yes, I’m bored in the house and I’m in the house bored. 

Categories: Letters from Lockdown, Series

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s