Covid ghost haunts me twice

Post date: 28-Jan-2022

Two lines – not two faint lines – but two dark lines! My test was positive. The self-test COVID kit does not lie, I was told. I tested again to make sure. The result did not change.

My heart skipped a beat. A morbid fear, one I had never experienced before, washed over me. It felt as though death were knocking on my door. I silently closed my bedroom door and prayed, terrified of what might happen if I succumbed to this dreaded virus.

The world seemed to shrink to a single point. I felt like a living ghost, haunted by the spectre of death. The sad tune of mortality played constantly in my mind, but I refused to open the door and invite it in.

Helplessness washed over me. I felt as if I were drowning in a sea of despair, unable to grasp a lifeline. My mind was numb, my body weak. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of my children, my family, and the desire to live. I was determined to survive. For them.

The first time I contracted COVID, I believe it was from touching surfaces at the supermarket. The second time, I'm not entirely sure, perhaps from a moment of overconfidence. I had foolishly thought I was invincible, that it would never happen to me. Yet, I still stocked up on sanitisers, a habit I had developed during the pandemic. And wore a mask, at all times.

My WhatsApp group was filled with well-meaning advice – inhalers, steam inhalers, Vicks vapour rub amongst other things. But I sensed a tinge of pity in their words, as if they were congratulating themselves on their own supposed invulnerability.

The thought of my family members who had succumbed to the virus haunted me. I recalled their faces, their laughter, the warmth of their presence. Now, they were mere echoes, distant memories tinged with sadness. I wondered if they had felt the same fear, the same helplessness that I was experiencing.

Their absence left a gaping hole in my life, a constant reminder of the fragility of existence. I imagined them battling the virus, their bodies weakened, their spirits perhaps wavering. The thought of their suffering was almost unbearable, a weight that pressed down on my heart.

In the quiet solitude of my single bedroom, I turned to meditation as a means of finding solace and inner peace. Sitting in the lotus position, I focused on my breath, allowing the rhythm to wash away my anxiety and fear. Gradually, a sense of calm began to settle over me over the course of the week, replacing the panic that had consumed me.

I also found solace in prayer. Kneeling by my bedside, I poured out my heart to a higher power, seeking strength and guidance in this time of crisis. The act of prayer provided me with a sense of connection and hope, reminding me that I was not alone in my struggle.

As days turned into weeks, I began to feel a strange sense of peace. It was as if the ghostly presence of COVID had lost its power over me. I imagined myself standing at the door of my bedroom, facing the spectral figure, and uttering a silent plea: "Leave me. I have faced my fear. I am no longer your captive."

And so, the ghost of COVID retreated, its power vanquished by my inner strength and resilience. I emerged from my self-imposed isolation, a survivor, a testament to the human spirit's ability to overcome even the most formidable challenges.