Some people argue that the the current UK lockdown is too tough. But for me it’s not the government I have to worry about – it’s my parents. And given my own experiences I wonder how many other young adults out there are suffering from what I think is an unreasonable level of parental house arrest.
It’s been thirteen days since I last posted about my own situation, which means I have been in this domestic prison for more than twenty-five days now.
The terms of the official lockdown state that people should only leave their homes for essential shopping, a bit of exercise, to help care for someone else, or for medical reasons. Well that must be tough for some, but my parents think it’s too dangerous for me to go out ever – at all – for anything.
And if the rules of parental arrest are different, then perhaps the release date will be too. If the lockdown works and the rate of infection flattens out, then people might be allowed a bit more freedom of movement. Whereas under parental arrest the virus might have to disappear completely before I am allowed out. How long will that take? Some think the virus will never absolutely disappear. Will I be here forever? The not knowing is torture.
My parents watch my every move. Their eyes follow me like CCTV. It’s unbearable. So I tried the idea of bail out on them. I said that if they let me out – like the rest of the population are allowed out – I would follow every piece of advice they gave me (other than not to go out…) for three whole months. Negative. So I also offered to cook for them, twice a week. And if I failed in either of my bail promises I’d be back in my room. Negative again!
And parental regulations can be very harsh. Stay two meters away from everyone in the household. Do not stay in the kitchen for more than five minutes. Hold your breath when someone is nearby. Only remove your mask if you have to eat or drink. Wash your hands every five mins. And most weirdly: close one eye when talking to other inmates. OK so I took a liberty with “inmates”, but the rest is absolutely true.
And the endless routine is destroying me. I get out of bed, take a shower, have breakfast, exercise a little indoors and that’s basically it for me, other than feeding time. So I spend most of the day on my bed, before getting in my bed, where I try to sleep until the whole tedious routine begins again.
My bedroom used to be my sanctuary, but now it is my cell. Another reason I feel trapped in it is that I want to avoid the other inmates who are constantly fighting each other out on the wing outside my door.
But I also hope that by seeing me in my self-imposed solitary confinement my parents might think I am reformed, and take pity on me by letting me out to get some fresh air, if only for a few minutes? Ok just one minute! Please mum! Please dad! How about the balcony? Can’t I at least go out on the balcony? I promise not to breathe – honest!
To be continued…