Not that it matters as I am an insignificant cog in the world of shakers and movers and of course "the science", but today I am really in a state of existential despair. I have struggled with the "What if" version of Obsessive Compulsive Order throughout my life, and probably an underlying dysthmia (a less dramatic form of depression). I have always needed to find the absolute of a thing or a situation, and as I am sure I have written elsewhere on these pages, I was raised by a very authoritarian mother who brooked no opposition over what she thought was true, and thus was true for me, and a then very strict Catholicism in school where authority and truth were one. Most of us worry about doing the "Right thing" (Well we used to anyway), but I had contorted my worry into a case of debate over pretty much anything. They call some forms of OCD the "doubting disease" because one can never settle on what is the "correct" thing to do. There are two aspects (well there have been for me) of this cyclical analysis. The first is that when you settle on a decision, you feel all right for about thirty seconds, and then the "what if I am wrong" shadow falls, and the whole back and forth starts again. Once forced into a decision of one sort or another, the net phase is wondering over and over whether you did the "wrong" thing, and if you did, whether it can be undone. No doubt it is a case of being stuck at some early developmental phase that gets taken with you in to the adult world. From the age of relative cognizance until I retired some years ago, the torture of that way of being was, in Catholic terms, my "Cross". Some few friends have seen me in the throes of it. Others, who think of me as relatively decisive, would have no clue that my particular form of the search for truth (and there are I know many fellow travellers on this psychological road) has been pure torture.
If I could not be certain about a path and its potentialities, I avoided it where I could. It probably partialoy explains my never marrying or having children. I had to work since I would be supporting myself, and, when I look back, probably it was idiotic that I became an attorney, where debate is a feature of the job--like I needed some more of that. I happened to find a niche in that arena--legal ethics--where my need for settling on THE TRUTH--was moderately protected and nutured. But even there the storm in my head over every trial decision raged until I was able to find a sub-niche, which included teaching that made it somewhat bearable.
Once I retired, the occasions for worrying about decisions I made, diminished on a day to day basis, since I remain unattached and don't have a daily job in the usual sense, though they still pop up from time to time where I cannot avoid a significant task. But the last several years, culminating in global and national gaslighting, have reignited the torture. And it has been topped off with Covid. What is plain to me and to like half the nation is not plain to the other half. And one half, not mine, has the media, official and social, and all educational facilities to tell me that I am wrong about pretty much anything I think I think. You know that phrase, "Don't piss on me and tell me it's raining"? When you have the doubting disease it doesn't help to have outside forces entering your head to trigger debates you don't want to have.
So, yesterday, I read another one of many articles on how there should be no live Thanksgiving activities. We are told that the positive cases are increasing. Well, that makes sense in that there is a lot more testing. I am having a colonoscopy at the end of the month and am compelled to have a test myself. But carefully omitted in the terrifying news of increasing positives/cases so that a new lockdown can be imposed is a breakdown of the positives. Many have no symptoms. Some have mild symptoms. Some get very sick. Some die, as they do of heart disease, cancer, car accidents, bathroom falls, bacterial infections, suicide, murder and the like, every day. In California, the death rate since the beginning of the pandemic affair is just under one half of one percent of the population of the State. And yet we have never actually opened and are about to be fully shut down again.
And IF we do go to ANY such gatherings, it should be very very small, and it really should be outside, and everyone wearing masks, and only one person handling food, and everything disinfected. In fact, you should even use paper plates. I have a small bubble (well under ten) with whom I usually share Thanksgiving, and I was perfectly satisfied that with reasonable care I could and should go until I read this article, these articles. And then there was a curfew. Nobody out from 10 p.m. to 5 a.m.
In my heart of hearts, I wanted to say, with extra emphasis, particularly since the leaders imposing these rules have manifestly not been following them (which in one's debate in the head seems to mean that THEY don't believe what they are selling), "Don't piss on me and tell me it's raining!" But instead I realize the gaslight had worked, playing on my wish to be good and true and charitable, I don't want to hurt anybody. I don't care much about my getting it, and even dying from it (in fact if this world we are in is what the "new normal" is, dying might be preferable where you believe in eternity), but after all this propaganda, even if I know that what I have been told is crazy, well, I don't really KNOW, do I?
And I can hear not just in my head any longer, but some of you perhaps reading this post of lament, saying, "Yes, you would be responsible!" Unlike me, they are very very very sure of "the science", even though that's not "the science" of a lot of other, well, scientists. And no one will tell me how it is that post Covid, if there is a post-Covid (as we know even with a vaccine, we are told that we must maintain masks and other forms of PPE for a time unspecified) we will become less dangerous to one another outside of our hermitages.
So, I wrote an e-mail to my potential host to say that, essentially, the deep concern of the state for our respective healths and my wish not to kill anyone was getting to me, and though I didn't believe a word anymore that is being said to me by anyone in authority (which is quite something since authority was as I said that upon which I was weaned even more than the average developing child), maybe Thanksgiving this year (and probably henceforth in my dismal view of things) wasn't a good idea. My friend was understanding and empathetic. He pointed out that some of his more socially minded, progressive friends had not cancelled their small gatherings. And he reminded me that several of us have been together throughout "L'Affaire de Covid" in the prior 8 months, that bubble I was talking about since none of us have much family left. None of us had contracted even the sniffles. I was on the other end of the debate in my head.
Which brings me to the title of this blog entry. I still haven't made a final decision about Thanksgiving. I am trending toward going. But of course, that will probably change as I engage in the "What if's" some more. But the oppression of this time we all share and my particularly psychological baggage really got to me. Except for the Rosary Across America which I have been doing every day with Relevant Radio, praying in desperation for some change in our national and world circumstances--and that I did in the supine position in my bed--I did nothing at all today until I began writing this entry. There were things I could do, that I do other days, when I am not going to my doctors for yearly examinations, or shopping at the 99 Cents Store for some provisions like toilet paper which is about to be in short supply again (I really was running low even for normal times), or going to my still closed parish outside for Mass. I could read. I could speak to someone on the phone. I could read again. I could write. I could read again. I could pray, which as I said, I sort of did. I could take a walk. No, not that here in California 'cause one is supposed to be wearing a mask when outside. I admit to avoiding that when I am walking short distances, but it would be hard to achieve in a city, and I the mask for me (and I am sure for others who simply fear to admit it) is unbearable for long periods.
I did go out on my newly fixed terrace, and lie in my free standing hammock, watching the palm trees and the little fountain I got to enhance the locale. I thought, well, at least I have this. Then I thought about "house arrest." How was what I, all of us, been doing, particularly in California and New York and the other enlightened states, different from "house arrest"? As we know, though better than regular prison, house arrest is usually that which someone who has committed a crime is subject.
I went to that source of all modern day knowledge, "Wikipedia". Here is some of what it says, "In justice and law, house arrest is a measure by which a person is confined to their residence. Travel is usually restricted, if allowed at all. House arrest is an alternative to being in prison while awaiting trial or after sentencing. . .
. . .most programs allow employed offenders to continue to work, and confine them to their residence only during non-working hours. Offenders are commonly allowed to leave their home for specific purposes; examples can inclue visits to the probation officer or police station, religious services, education, attorney visits, court appearances, and medical appointments. Many programs also allow the convict to leave their residence during regular, pre-approved times in order to carry out general household errandes, such as food shopping and launry. Offenders may have to respond to communications from a higher authority to verify that they are at home when required to be. Exceptions are often made to allow visitors to visit the offender. . ."
I am, we are, under house arrest. Now, a lot of you think that there is this big difference. We aren't offenders--well we are as we are germ factories and any potential contact with another is lethal. It always was. It always will be. But right now, it is particularly a focus in the days of Covid, which has been given a distinct place in the hierarchy of dangers by approved scientists. So, public health requires house arrest. Someone, many someones, writes on Facebook "Just wear the mask". I do, because there is no choice as far as I can see and I am still the perfect subject/object for mandates from authority (though I have learned that authority is often wrong; but you know what they say, "Give me a child till he is five and I'll show you the man." Or woman. I was a malleable child.) But I cannot help but ask the question, mostly quietly, as dissent is no longer patriotic as it was when it was progressives dissenting, "Will there ever come a time when we can stop wearing a mask?" And since, as I said, I know that we won't stop being germ factories, and no doubt there is some other contagion, natural or man made, ready to be released upon us, my terror, and it is a terror, for me, though apparently not for most of you given the nods of approval for extended use, it will be forever. And to me, if that is our future, we might as well be bugs. What we will no longer be is human. And my opinion being just as valid as anyone else's until I become a speech offender and house arrest becomes the real prison kind, is that we are heading toward tyranny of the kind you read about in history books until they get revised by utopians. My prayer tonight is "God spare us from Utopians".
My religious friends are calling all this a "chastisement". It sure feels that way.
Since by tomorrow the fullest of restrictions will likely be reinstated here in California if not everywhere in the United States (and the world), I doubt I will be in a better mood.
And as I said, I am just a cog. I will have to try to reframe and see it as another part of "the Cross" and hope that I will accept the cup of suffering which surely is going to get worse. God will have to unload a heap of Grace on me for that to happen. And even then I am not sure I can handle it.