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Covid, Anxiety & Me
I was never a patient person. I know that. And let’s be honest, I was never all that keen on germs. In fact, my fear of them is what kept me from seriously pursuing a career in medicine despite a keen interest and pretty decent aptitude (oh and I looked really super cute in a white coat back in the day). But years of anxiety, coupled with 2 years of Covid have turned me into a germaphobic, people-hating 100-pound ball of white-hot hate. And you know what? I’m tired!
I thought I was getting better, I really did. Then Omicron came along and phrases like “super contagious,” “unstoppable,” and everyone will get it,” started being bandied about. Great! Just fuckin’ great!
Leaving my home renders me utterly exhausted. It starts with getting dressed for the Canadian winter, coat, hat, mittens. And of course, the mask. That cursed thing! Yes, we’ve been wearing them for ages now. And yes, they’re necessary and I wear it religiously and without fail whenever I go somewhere. But I still hate it.
I hate the feeling of having my face covered. Even when I was a kid, I couldn’t stand anything around my face. I automatically feel like my breathing is being restricted. It’s an anxiety thing. I’m aware. It doesn’t make it any better.
