“Every interaction, from the brief and transactional, to the lingering and social, feels slightly off to me...” writes BellaMackie.
The first proper human encounter I had after restrictions started lifting was not a meeting with mates in a cold pub garden, it was with my GP. I had a breast exam, taking my top off, trying not to dislodge my. I was nervous, and I babbled on as the doctor politely answered my questions and examined me. “Oh, it’s so strange to have someone touch me for the first time in a year,” I blurted. And then, realising it sounded weird, I attempted to elaborate.
Every interaction, from the brief and transactional, to the lingering and social, feels slightly off to me. I go into a non-essential shop and I can feel myself dialling it up. I’m wildly gesticulating, and talking too loudly . I am too cheerful, too excited to buy something mundane that isn’t milk. When I had my first vaccine last week, I gabbed on about the weather, made a bad joke about being left-handed, and then cried when I left.
It feels a little like I’m wearing a ballgown and a face full of make-up in a room where everyone else is in jeans and muted roll-neck jumpers. As though I’m the one person at a dinner who’s overdone it on the wine and people are sort of looking away in embarrassment. But that’s not true, is it? Because I have to assume most people are finding it weird to interact with other people right now. Even describing it as “interacting” shows how clinical and strange it is.