Yesterday was another tough day...so I wrote about it. Privately. It helps menavigate through this difficult Long Covid experience. Usually I keep my rants private, but my partner Jenny's very heartfelt post yesterday ( unknown to me) inspired me to share what I wrote with the FB world.
Here’s a section from her post...
“This is why you really do not want to risk getting Covid or passing it on to anyone else. This could happen to you. It is totally random and it is disabling people of all ages on a long-term basis.
I feel impotent to help him.
I feel so sad to watch him suffering.
And, on bad days like today, I also get really angry that so many people are still being so casual about this virus and not understanding that it can completely f++k up your life.“
So, my post here is not a cry for help or support - it's a bit of a rant - but I sincerely hope that it helps people to understand what Covid can lead to. I also hope that it may help you to understand what it’s like for anyone you know who has Long-Covid, and “they look ok” , and you just want them to “pull up their socks” and get on with their lives” !
Day 407 after entry into the LongCovid Universe.
"Something has happened to me. Somehow, after being infected, I have lost my strength of will and body. For 13 months. Everything has become more and more difficult."
…. After 407 days or 13 months of entering the Long-Covid Galaxy I am sooooooooo tired of the frustration, the hopelessness, the helplessness, the tiredness and pain all over my body, the tight chest and starving for oxygen lungs. I exist within a whole new world, which brings up so many emotions, hurts my body and challenges my mind. There are many days when I want to fall – far and long – into a Black Hole.
THE NIGHTMARE I WANT TO WAKE UP FROM ... aka Long-haul Covid
By the time I finish writing this it will be day close to Day 100. One hundred days of waking up in a body that doesn’t feel like mine. It's as if I'm living a stranger's life in a strangers body, and often I find myself dropping into the beginnings of depression, before I haul myself back up. That’s hard to admit, coming from a guy who was always healthy and always optimistic, and had no time for what he would call “poor me syndrome”.