The thing is.

The thing is after a year of suppressed grief, after a worldwide trauma, after trying so hard to keep your shit together and just survive a debilitating and humiliating disease, a fucking pandemic, buying a new house, moving into said house, isolating from all of your friends and family, from society, and being unable to celebrate milestones in a way that you deserve to…

The thing is, when you get that first injection. That first vaccine hit. The first hint of “maybe this is going to turn out okay”. That first glimmer of hope that maybe things can return just a little bit to normal. You find yourself letting out a breath you didnt even know you’ve been holding. Your brain shifts out of survival mode, and allows you to think and to feel a little bit of everything you’ve been holding in for the last year.

The thing is, maybe you fall apart.

Maybe fall apart and write a really angsty blog post about how it’s been seven years since you got diagnosed and you just kind of emotionally barf all over the Internet.

The thing is, I’m much better now.

The second shot was a fucking doozy, as advertised. But it came with a sense of peace. In two weeks after that, it came with the promise of normalcy. Not long after that, I had friends in my room, unmasked, chatting like nothing had ever happened. There was one quick moment of panic –OH MY GOD THERE IS SOMEONE SITTING ON MY BED WITH ME AND THERE ARE NO MASKS WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE DOING – and then it was over and then we were talking like old times. Natural. Normal.

This thing is, it was really really nice.

And then I got together with another group of friends last week. We had Moroccan food. We played games and bullshitted all night and again, it was nice. Normal. I had forgotten what conversation tasted like.

The thing is, there is definitely an end to all of the madness. I can see it from here. It’s lovely. Wait for it.

It looks pretty good from here.

The thing is, we’re going to be okay.