Nour Abdul Reda

I really didn’t want to publish this, as I think I’ve been too negative here, and it has become a place for me to be a baby. But I don’t want to encourage deleting unpublished posts and hide behind a fake façade, so here is some more whining ( 🙂 )

They all talk about the 14 days of COVID-19, but nobody talks about the aftermath of the 14 days. Nobody talks about the long-term symptoms and the long-term destruction that it causes on our bodies. Nobody tells us that infection can occur literally after we’re tested negative.

I’m in my 9th day of symptoms today and my 6th day without my sense of smell and taste. I’ve been reading a lot about people who’ve lost these senses for weeks, even months, post-COVID-19. Some people lost it for good. It’s terrifying me.

I’ve been asking all my friends and relatives who caught it before about this; the relatives who took the same vitamins and meds-but, of course, less-have all gotten back a day or two after losing them. A friend of a friend lost it for over a month, and a friend regained 80% of her sense of taste gradually and only 20% of her smell (she’s been negative since November).

Imagine not being able to enjoy the taste of your coffee or the smell of your loved ones; it’s like going around the world with no colors. I know some people have it harder, but I’m finding this so hard to swallow.

I’m trying almost everything. I even tried the “Jamaica recipe,” which consists of burning clementine and orange and eat/drink them puree. Nothing.

I still have 5 more days of this, and it’s over. I even planned my next week, and I am hoping it is the great breather I need after the 14 days of aloofness. I really really really want my smell and taste senses back by next week.

For those of you who know, know, and for those who don’t, well, you know now. I’m still in my fourth day of symptoms, but my anxiety is slowly easing up, and I’m more relieved that tomorrow is the fifth day and tomorrow we’ll know the result of my family (hoping for the best, please God.)

Aside from my physical symptoms, the psychological ones almost killed me; I couldn’t stop crying for three days straight; I even woke up at night to continue crying and then go back to sleep. My anxiety mainly went into three phases;

Phase 1 was when I first knew the panic of having infected anyone at all, and especially my friends who have high-risk family members; it suffocated me. I couldn’t not think that I will be the reason behind their pain, any pain, and that I might kill them and go through so much all because of me.

Phase 2 was the shame, the shame of carrying something that isn’t really my fault, yet it felt like it is. The shame of contracting a virus in the middle of a pandemic. It made me feel like I started COVID-19; it was born and bred in me as if I created this virus, and I killed people with it knowingly and not knowingly.

Phase 3 was the extreme guilt that I might be the reason behind my family getting the virus. This is the worst part, and I’m still very stressed about it, but less stressed as tomorrow we can know. They don’t have any symptoms, and we’re all being extremely careful, and I’m taking all precautions, so I do hope from the bottom of my heart that they remain safe and healthy.

But the anxiety is a beating, more than anything. I’m scared for my family more than anything, but I guess I’m trying to think that if it happens, it happens. I didn’t choose to get sick, and I definitely didn’t choose to infect my family if I did. It’s a pandemic, and I fought it for almost 8 months, and with my weak immunity, that is something.

Yesterday was exceptionally scary for me, as I spent my new years eve alone in a room, it’s something I was always afraid of. I had my dinner, ate cake, wrote here a little, watched some Friends, and slept at 11pm because I was sleep and because what even is the point?

Today I lost my sense of smell and taste, adding to my fatigue and back pain symptoms. I’m also sneezing today, which makes me panic more. John Mayer has been helping me a lot these few days, so I’m grateful for him.

It’ll pass, I hope it does.

I think it’s about time we talk about 2020. Generally, I’ve been avoiding writing these two days as I’ll sound depressing-more depressing than my previous post, but I need to talk about 2020.

2020, what have you done? How can so many pain be fit in 12 months of nonsense? How can I lose my people, my city, my sanity, my health, in one year?

2020 you have aged me like no other. You gave me a good few months only to take it all away in your days; you took away the anxiety only to throw it back at my face on Tuesday, as the last laugh, claiming your win, claiming the last bits of shards that were left from my life.

2020, you win. I no longer will fight you. In the first 6 months, you taught me severe loss and unbearable feeling of staying silent while my loved ones are tortured in front of my eyes. You taught me to work 16 hours a day without a meaning, working only to reach a dead end. You taught me to stay quiet on justice and reminisce on memories I never lived. You taught me great nostalgia that ached me for so long.

And then you taught me the real meaning of anxiety. Of days of pure blackouts and unbearable anguish. You taught me how to see life as a dark, hopeless abyss and go on days terrified, to my bones, to wake up in the morning.

And then it got better. For around four months, you taught me love and grace and peace. You taught me to see the beauty in everything and notice the pretty little things in people. I was able to find my happiness again; you taught me how to smile without trying.

And then you took it away from me, now, as you are about to end and as I thought the hard phase is now behind me. You forced me to carry all the weight that took me too long to leave behind; you forced me to carry it again.

And you showed me hell, for three days you threw the worst scenarios that could’ve happened in my face, and it’s still the beginning of the road; I’m still in the first days, and it physically still isn’t as hard on me.

2020? You destroyed me. I thought you didn’t, I thought the first few months were just that, and it’ll get better, but now as I celebrate new years eve alone in a dark room without anyone by my side, I can tell you that you put me in a place I always dreaded.

I might not even stay awake till 12am, because, what’s the point? That’ll only depress me even more.

I’ll just sleep you away, I won’t even stay up to say my goodbyes. I’ll just sleep you away.

I don’t feel like writing, but i know crying alone in a dark room won’t do me good, and if I let myself sink as low as I am sinking right now, it’s going to take me months to stand back up.

My aunt told me it’s not okay to be weak, but it’s okay to cry if that what makes me feel better, and i can’t stop crying.

Why do I feel like this is my fault? Why do I feel this overburdened responsibility that I’m the cause of eternal misery, and that I won’t, nor anyone around me, find happiness anymore?

I’m thinking of what would’ve been my upcoming weeks; we had so many things planned and set out. We were going to have two gorgeous getaways, and new years eve is in three days, and I’m going to spend it alone in a dark empty room.

Well this sums up 2020, I guess. Saying goodbye to 2020 alone in my room, and I would’ve probably be worse by then because that’s what it is I guess, that’s 2020 for you.

I think if this is true, I would probably have seen everything in this hellbent year, my mental health would’ve been tested in the most awful ways and I’m not sure how much I can polish back from it.

For tonight, I think I’ll go back to watching Friends and hoping all of this goes away in the morning. 

I’ll try to keep on writing to feel sane, or maybe finish posts I’ve already began writing, I hope I can commit to this. 

I hope my head stops hurting, and my tears dry by tomorrow.