“I like the night. Without the dark, we’d never see the stars.”
― Stephenie Meyer, Twilight
Hello, international friends. It’s been a while since I last updated my blog. I know. For the past couple of years, I’ve been updating it at least every other week. But I stopped my online activities entirely since August.
So, where have I been? This post has been a little long overdue and is significantly difficult to write. I thought I wasn’t ready for this, but sooner or later I thought I need to be honest with my readers here. During the past four months, I’ve been through a lot. I deactivated my social media accounts and didn’t keep up with my online presence much. But here, I’m revealing the darkest days of my life.
On August 5th, 2021, I tested positive in the Covid-PCR test. That was the beginning of my hell. Not only me but also my father tested positive. Leaving my mother in my parents’ house, my father and I started living together in my apartment. To my surprise, my father wasn’t upset at all. Rather, he was pleased to know about his infection because he could spend a week with me during our self-quarantine period.
“I will protect you no matter what,” he told me. He knew I had anxiety and mild depression. He was reassuring me everything will be alright. Not only was he my father, but also he was my best friend with whom I could share anything.
Losing my sense of smell and taste, I was almost losing my hope too. But because my father was with me, I thought I could endure it. But as days went by, my father’s condition was getting worse. Because of that, I called the ambulance twice. He had initially refused to go to a hospital, but eventually, he was carried into a hospital away from our town. August was the midst of the covid-fifth wave, and almost all hospitals across the country were full of capacities. At least, that they found my father a hospital to take care of was a blessing in disguise. But my grimmer of hope didn’t last long.
The day he was carried into a hospital, I couldn’t breathe normally. I was hyperventilating so much due to my both physical and mental instabilities. Even though I wasn’t particularly feeling well, I didn’t have many options but stayed in my apartment room alone. I thought about committing suicide hundreds of times. Sometimes, I kept googling how I could be able to kill myself without pain.
Anger, sorrow, and despair. August was literally the hell. Not only did I suffer from the ill itself, but I was also suffering from medical gaslighting and social discrimination. The virus is evil. But the virus also revealed the very dark side of humanity as well. Our municipal government provided covid patients with emergency numbers, but all they did was simply transferring me around to different departments. Our government proved to us again they are simply useless and don’t function when we need them most.
The hospital where my father was carried into kept updating us about his condition, and he was only getting worse day after day. My mother was in her deep grief, and I saw her devastatingly crying a number of times. I lost my hope. I even thought I lost my future and everything.
My father passed away in early September. He was fighting against the virus for a month. When we arrived at the hospital, he was already gone. During his stay at the hospital, we had had a few chances to see him. But he had been put to sleep by drugs so hadn’t been able to talk. We, therefore, didn’t have any idea what he was thinking during his last days.
The hell would have been a much better place, I thought. One of the worst feelings we could have during our lifetime is dying inside while being alive. I had no hope. I also worried about my health. The aftereffects, known as long-covid, lasted for a couple of months. My former doctor refused to see me and even told me things that could have been considered discrimination for my covid infection. Thankfully, I was able to find a doctor in my city who takes care of covid survivors. It was a consolation that my physical condition was getting better faster than I thought. My sense of smell and taste were in full recovery at this time.
Through my covid infection, I witnessed too much, experienced too much, and endured too much. As I mentioned earlier, the worst part of this infection was witnessing the deep dark side of humanity. The doctor whom I trusted and bagged for help kicked me out with brutal discrimination. City hall staff whom I consulted with gaslighted me. My neighbors were gossiping about me. My former friend even tried to convert me to his religion, specifically Islam, taking advantage of my weakness due to my infection to covid (I cut ties with him).
I wish my father were still around us. His presence could have been making me feel reassured. But he’s gone now. His body was cremated into ashes soon after his death. I still can’t believe it. It was just too rapid and too sudden.
Dear dad…
What were you thinking before you die? What was on your mind? Can you hear me? Dad… Where are you now?
All emotions I have right now are emptiness, anger, and sorrow. I still don’t how I should feel and react to this unprecedented situation.
I’m living my own hell.
