Sunday afternoon brought an unexpected observation from my boss: I appeared stressed. It was far from an ordinary day, clad in a white blouse and jeans, with my hair tied up and a touch of golden eyeshadow gracing my eyelids. Despite the shimmer, I couldn't shake the feeling that it only accentuated the pallor of my face.
Sleep had eluded me for two consecutive nights, each one presenting its own challenge. Friday night was marred by a severe headache, making rest uncomfortable. Saturday, although I managed to drift off at 10 pm, saw me abruptly awaken in the middle of the night. Despite the lack of sleep, I found solace in the deep brown caffeine that kept me alert at work, where activities were relatively sparse.
The looming specter of potentially contracting COVID weighed heavily on my mind, breeding a toxic mindset that affected me in various ways. The fear of infecting others, causing panic both in the office and at home among my friends and with the baby, intensified my anxiety. Though I exhibited no symptoms, the worry gnawed at me, convincing me of an illness that wasn't yet present.
The uncertainty surrounding the virus only served to heighten my distress, as nobody could predict when it would end. The intensity of these emotions was palpable and undeniably frightening.
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