Doggydad's life now: The Viral Monologues: Confessions of an Accidental Agoraphobic

I'm really not agoraphobic, but in just 4 days I've developed a new-found respect for the plight of those so-affected. It's funny, because unlike an agoraphobic person, I really do want to get out of the house. Having clarity and self-awareness about that makes it easier for me to resolve myself to the truth that it's not in my best interest to go out and hang out amongst the general population, no matter how stifling and imposing this current situation feels to me. No matter how much I want to defy what is in my best interest, I also know what the potential cost of being so foolhardy can be. What I'm working with now is a good old fashioned case of "he wants the one thing that he can't have the most". I have to think that 4 days of not leaving the house by choice wouldn't even make me bat an eye. I know Parry, and the one thing about the quirky little man is that if you tell him that he can't have something, that is the one thing that he will want the most. But enough of speaking (writing) in the third person. I usually hate that, it comes across as being so affected. I'll chalk it up to a momentary lapse in judgment.

In the last 4 days, these have been my adventures outside of the house:

Two trips to the post office to get the mail out of my PO box (wearing surgical mask)
Two trips to the grocery store for a few essentials (wearing surgical mask).
A trip to Walgreens to pick up an antibiotic prescription for a sore throat. Luckily, my neighborhood Walgreens has a drive-through, so I was able to complete the transaction with no direct physical human contact.
The Pleasant Hill Farmer's Market yesterday (I went commando; I just decided that it was outdoors, lowering my chances of getting viruses coughed into my face. I just needed to feel normal for a minute so I rolled the dice, took the chance and abandoned the surgical mask).

As a result of these few masked outings, I have learned how self-conscious and proud I really am. I cannot stand to go out in public with a surgical mask on my face. I'll do it if I need to go out, but I'm doing it very much against my wishes. I am normally an astute social observer. It doesn't matter what I'm doing when I'm out in public, if I'm out there I'm always people-watching. I love to observe social behavior. I love to just look at people and marvel at our aesthetic differences. I might see another long-haired, middle-aged curly brunette-haired man, but I can find far more that differentiates us as opposed to physical attributes that we have in commmon. I love this, and I marvel at both what we as humans have in common with each other, and also what makes us unique. Most importantly, I like to make eye contact with people as a general rule, there is just something magical that often happens when you make that connection, and I never fail to marvel at that fact.

But now, as I walk through Safeway or the post office or wherever, I'm finding myself walking down the aisles with my eyes fixed permanently downward, neither making eye contact with anyone else, nor taking note of any reaction they might be having to seeing this old hippie-looking guy walking around with a face mask. Is he crazy, a germophobe, immune-compromised? I really don't want to see that questioning expression, and if I see it, all it would do is make me want to walk around with a big banner explaining the mask.

Then again, perhaps I should see this as a learning experience; specifically an exercise in letting go of my hubris that won't let me show others any degree of vulnerability, be it physical or psychological. I have to now think that in the past, I was paying lip service to the importance of letting down my guard, and overstating my ability to do so.

Tonight was my 4th dose of Interferon. At some point this week, I should reach peak blood levels of the drug, and I'm hoping that once that levels off, the side effects will also level off. So far, it's been a little tougher for me after each dose, and the crappy feeling seems to hang on a little longer. It's been about an hour since I gave myself the injection tonight, and I just went through my first little feverish and sweaty episode, one of many likely episodes I'll experience in the next few days. They usually last less than an hour, but that doesn't make them fun by any stretch of the imagination.

This is (so far) more challenging than I expected. I'm not saying that in a manner that would suggest that I'm surrendering to this crap, but I'm definitely looking at my current state of affairs with more honesty and eyes more widely open. There seems to be another unexpected positive response to my social isolation; I feel like I'm seeing all this very clearly. I'm still positive, I believe that the drug is working, I really do. That said, I also now have a very open-eyed and realistic acceptance of how difficult (challenging) and bumpy this road is likely to be. Even knowing that, as I say nearly every time I write (or think) about it: if it works and it knocks the virus to kingdom come, then all this will have been oh so very worth it.

What is really bothering me the most right now is my lethargy. I just want to lie on the sofa all day and watch stupid movies, and if I can't find a decent movie, then I'll just watch whatever stupid thing is on the TV. It's frustrating, because there is so much to do around here. I could do some high cleaning. There are still boxes that I've not unpacked since the move of a year and a half ago. I've hung almost none of my artwork on my walls; all that adorns them right now are television flat screens, speakers or light fixtures. I have lots of painting, patching, touch-up work, gardening and organizing that needs to be done. I also know, having lived so many years with chronic fatigue syndrome, that the mind can have all the best of intentions, but the body needs to be willing. The Interferon has only amplified my usual baseline malaise. To be honest, of all the shit that it's done to me, the very notable upsurge of my fatigue and malaise is the most frustrating, disheartening and depressing aspect, much more so than any other ill effect of the "therapy".

But I am tough. I can make it through this, just as I have made it through every other roadblock that I've come upon in my life. I'm also very conscious of the value of documenting this. More than any other reason for writing this journal, I think this is probably its greatest value. I fully expect that at some later date when all this is only a distant memory, it may only be then that I'll realize this writing's value. Hopefully I'll appreciate how helpful it has been to be able to look back on the darkest moments and see how I'm able to get through the worst of them. In reality, this isn't even close to the darkest periods in my life. It really is all a matter of perspective, and perspective requires memory. If this is the crutch that will help me remember how it felt in the moment, then so be it. Sometimes, it's just comforting to look at what's going on in my head, and then see it put into words. I am, after all, a wordsmith, and words give me peace and comfort.