Like many people, I’ve moved back in with my family. I left because I felt trapped. But everyone said it was the best place to be. Not much has changed here though – they never leave the house anyway. For some reason, this situation affects him the most though. He’s allowed to get the angriest. The rest of us have to stay quiet. Some days things are good and happy, even over-the-top silly. Other days mum isn’t allowed dinner and the living room reeks of wine. I’ll look at the glass in his hands and then at the clock. 4pm. My heart sinks. The kids are starting to pick up his attitude. It breaks me that they don’t know anything better than his insane version of normal. I want to protect them and mum so badly. But I feel strangled, choking. Swallow my tears. Another night comes. Repeat.
The only reason I’m writing this is because it’s anonymous. Even then, I’m worried about anyone else finding out how I feel. But the truth is, I’m really happy that this has all happened. I don’t enjoy my life. I hate getting up every morning, and stay up as late as possible to prolong it. That just means I’m permanently exhausted, which adds to it all. I hate my job, I hate my friends, and the entire routine makes me want to get on a plane and disappear. Putting life on hold has been incredible, and I know the reasons behind it should make me feel guilty for feeling that way, but I don’t. I love doing nothing. I do nothing all day long. Nothing from the moment I wake up at midday until I go to sleep at 4am. Honestly, I hope it continues for as long as possible.
I was going to break up with my boyfriend when coronavirus started. That’s a lie, I was going to break up with him three months ago, but we have a lease on a flat together, and I didn’t know what else to do other than ride it out until I could make a clean break. I guess that makes me a coward. I loved him at one point, I guess, but I cannot stand the sight of him now. I fake feeling sad and anxious about COVID-19, but the truth is I just want to be by myself. It’s any excuse to get away from him, even for an hour. I don’t want to see him, I don’t want to talk to him, and the thought of having sex with him physically repluses me. But now I’m stuck, it’s just him and me, trapped inside, 24-hours a day, seven days a week, and he still has no idea.
Lockdown has enabled me to indulge in some of my favourite hobbies that normally have to be put on the backburner. I’ve spent the majority of my time in the kitchen, trying out recipes that have idly sat in my Pinterest board for months, and treating myself to some comfort sweet-treats. My boyfriend isn’t complaining about the sudden abundance of food – in fact, he’s started picking up the spatula himself. As a man who cooked exclusively chicken and rice pre-corona, it’s odd strolling into the kitchen to find him sweating, tea-towel flung over his shoulder as he whips up a carbonara sauce and sauteed vegetables.