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If popular history is to be believed, Shakespeare wrote King Lear in the midst of an outbreak of the plague. While locked down, he turned his incomparable genius to one of his most enduring plays - albeit one where no main characters exit, persued by a bear. It's a parable some in the Twittersphere have put out: 'See, you can be productive in lockdown! Look at this!'
It's nice that some have tried to keep people upbeat and encourage creativity. On the other hand, telling people to measure themselves against one of the great historical literary geniuses is probably not that inspiring. 'Look, you can work on your first touch in lockdown. Even Lionel Messi is managing it!' Yes, and Messi is one of the best footballers ever with what is probably a small estate, while you have a back garden and a patio that needs weeding. Not to mention, you're not as good as him.
At least, that's what the voices say. Being creative in lockdown has been a futile task, made harder by one fundamental fact.
For the past six months I have been suffering from an episode of depression.
It's not been easy to deal with at the best of times. To help, I'm on a course of anti-depressants. It's likely I'll still be on them more than a year from now. I was on them before it became clear that COVID-19 was going to hit Britain, and hit Britain hard. There had been days before then when it was hard to get going, to say the least. When getting up on a morning was the hardest thing I could do.
Thankfully, I do a job to get up for. As stressful as it can be, as much of a workload as it has, as demanding as each day is, I enjoy teaching. There's a reason why I want to be in work for 7, an hour and a half before the school day begins. When I fell into depression, school took on an additional meaning: it was the reason to keep going. Seeing those kids every day, much as they can be the most irritating so-and-sos going, was a reason to get up. On the final day of regular school, some of my year 8s trailed me around when I was on duty to applaud me and say thank you; I can only say the feeling was mutual because they'd kept me going.
Then came lockdown.
I can't say I've struggled more than others although I'm also prepared to acknowledge that it's not an experience I've relished. A combination of medication and a constant, hard training regime have kept my head above water, at least for the moment.
One of the symptoms I've found in depression has been the bone-tiredness that comes from keeping going during the day. It was a symptom at school; constantly putting a face on to the kids was draining, even though I also got energy from the classroom and doing a job I love. By the end of a week I was on the point of collapse.
That same bone-tiredness is present now, but for different reasons. Keeping going, keeping working has needed me to stay disciplined. 8-4 most days, making lists of tasks to complete for school on a daily basis, keeping to a routine during each day. On one hand, it's kept me going. Knowing what I expect of myself and knowing what others expect is a motivator. At the same time, it's exhausting. It's artificial. There's a constant feeling of 'what's the point?' The motivation of seeing 30 kids staring up, wanting to know what's next (or, just as often, how they can avoid work and keeping me on my toes with tasks) just doesn't exist.
Today I started work at 8:55. I completed my list of essential tasks by 11:10. I can't do any more. I'm exhausted; physically from a demanding running regime, mentally and emotionally by a psychological millstone that hits every part of my life. The former keeps the latter in check and has kept me just about functioning.
That isn't to say I'm completely functioning. I was struggling socially before the lockdown. A few weeks before all this kicked off I had to force myself to two friends' wedding. I very nearly didn't go. It was nothing to do with not wanting to be there and celebrate their day. It was entirely to do with the tiredness I felt, and the absolute hopelessness seeping through every thought. Why would they want to see me? Wouldn't I just bring it all down? I left after a couple of hours of the evening do, completely shattered after putting a face on.
Equally, socialising in lockdown is a challenge. I've lost count of the number of times I've picked up a phone to speak to someone but decided against it. I'm too tired, too often, to entertain speaking to someone - at least that's what my conscious reasoning is. The result is an isolation that's deepening and counterproductive.
Truth be told, I am coping. Just. But I'm not coping to an extent where I can entertain the idea of being creative or doing more, for the time being, than the bare minimum that needs to be done to keep going.
Some might question why I've written this. Partly, it's as catharsis. I often feel better after explaining something. When I told my parents I was on anti-depressant medication I felt better than I had in weeks (perhaps helped further by a fantastic performance from Town that night - a 2-1 win against Bristol City that could have been 8 or 9). I've kept a lot of things quiet, either to not bother people or because I don't want people to think any the worse of me, or think that I'm incapable of doing what I need to do. I know that isn't a healthy attitude to have.
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