Fight the Power: The coronavirus blues linger on – Charleston Post Courier

The thing I hate most during the day isn't traffic; it's not when Dunkin' makes my coffee order wrong or when your leg falls asleep from being on Instagram too long on the throne.

It's when I get a phone call. Like, legit, someone dialed my number instead of texting me.

I don't care if I'm lying on my bed using a large feather for a fan while eating grapes. If you call me, I will more than likely ignore your call and text back, "Can't talk, can text. What's up?"

I began to think about other things that fit these anti-social categories and realized that I've regressed in wanting to talk to people or hang out with them.

It wasn't that long ago that we would drive by our friends and family's homes, waving at them and giving air hugs. I remember bringing a bottle of Jack and sitting on the other side of the street while my buddies Dre and Sammy Lopez joined me for a drink but 200 feet away.

And funniest of all, I remember the surprise FaceTime calls. When that FT ring would pour out of my phone, I would get giddy and make sure I didn't have a boogie hanging from my nose, trying my best to look cute (hilariously enough, I looked like wolf-man jack because ain't nobody getting haircuts during the pandemic).

So why is it that when things open back up do I have this significant regression?

Two years ago, I just wanted to sit at a bar to drink and have a normal conversation about sports or something insane Kanye did. Now, as soon as I go out, I can't wait to get back home. I find myself unable to communicate with people in public again. When I look normal and do not have any issues, my anxiety level is through the roof, anticipating the end of whatever interaction I'm having.

I spoke to my friend Dr. Napoleon Wells,local-based clinical psychologist and author, about these feelings. I wondered if he's come across anyone else dealing with these feelings after dealing with COVID restrictions the past two years.

"We are seeing more studies emerging in and around what you have with the emotional and psychiatric correlates of having (lived) so long with Rona, he said. "I've just taken to calling it Coronaralized Anxiety Disorder and Ronaphrenia."

These comments were during a casual conversation with my bro, and it was an unofficial diagnosis with the term, but the ideals began to make sense as he further explained.

"It looks like anxiety in terms of engaging with other people but it also looks like depression in terms of day to day motivation and energy level. Sense of disconnection but wanting to be connected."

He also poses that our sense of reality has shifted when we ask, "What does it mean to be outside?"

The question also hits from a creative perspective. I make hip-hop music. One of the main genres that require crowd participation and energy. What happens when you're making music just in your home with no venue to perform it at or someone's car to bump it in and see that seductive head-nod?

The answer is simple: Own your feelings. My "Ronalized Anxiety Disorder," if you will.

During the past two years, I forced myself to create out of emotional survival and not commerce. I made music and hated 90% of it, but I could hear my emotions in real-time and hear the anguish I didn't know was there. I put some of those pieces, flawed and at times incomplete, in a project appropriately called the 'Rona Tape.'

After I put it out last week, someone called me, and in an out-of-the-norm moment, I answered the call. Funny enough, out of anguish, the project generated an hour-long conversation with my friend. It felt great. Now next time you call, there's a good chance I will answer.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Preach Jacobs is a musician, artist and activist and founder of Cola-Con and indie label Sounds Familiar Records. You can hear his podcasts and read more work at FightThePower.co.

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Fight the Power: The coronavirus blues linger on - Charleston Post Courier