Anxiety & the Apocalypse

March 15: One last stock-up

Had another night of shitty sleep. 

Everyone I talk to seems to be experiencing the same: highly interrupted sleep and weird, wild dreams. It's not entirely surprising. We're all saturated in a collective fear and panic. That doesn't just switch off when we go to bed. The anxiety you feel – whether it's yours or the world's that you're feeling – is bound to seep into our subconscious overnight.

I find I wake up a lot in the early mornings. It's like my brain is trying to recalibrate with my surroundings, trying to distinguish what is real and what is not – if this pandemic is truly happening or just a nightmare I keep slipping in and out of.

Thankfully I had a call with my therapist scheduled for noon. After how I'd been feeling the last few days, it couldn't come soon enough.

I started crying within seconds of being on the phone with her. Even in non-pandemic times, she had a way of coaxing my sadness out of me; any tears hiding inside would always bubble to the surface.

The emotional burden I'd been carrying all week rushed out like a broken dam. I told her all about my fears, how horrible I'd feel if I found out days from now that I was sick and had infected someone. I talked about the uncertainty of it all, not knowing how long life will be this way. 

"That's true," she said softly.

By the end of our call, I felt much better. Her soothing voice had always been like a balm to my hysteria. I no longer felt frazzled or scattered. I felt centred, like I'd finally returned to myself and my own little place of peace.

That calm feeling lasted approximately 45 mins.

A friend of mine who knew someone in the government messaged me to say that soon everything in Ontario would be shut down except for grocery stores, pharmacies and gas stations.

I knew that once this news broke, people would have yet another freak-out and make a mad dash to stock up on stuff. By this point I was fully planning to stay at my place for at least two weeks, as we'd been advised to do.

I looked at my groceries and wondered: is this enough? It might be, but what if everyone buys everything at the store and then it takes the stores awhile to stock everything back up again?

So I ventured out, taking the alleyway to the store for the first time. I wondered why I hadn't been doing this all along; it was delightfully peaceful and void of people.

While I was looking at the selection of canned soups, a man in front of me coughed slightly, without covering his mouth. I darted away from him as quickly as possible, but panic had already started to set in.

I felt myself getting warm and sweaty from the stress of being in a busy store amongst many people. Based on the info we had about the virus, I had to assume that it was extremely likely at least one of these people were infected.

I eyed everyone distrustfully, keeping my distance as much as possible. I held my breath as I walked past them without having any scientific proof of this being a helpful measure. It didn't matter. I was doing it anyway, and it made me feel slightly better.

The irony is that my stressed, sweaty face was making me look ill, and others were probably thinking I was the one who was sick. And maybe I was. None of us had any way of knowing before symptoms appeared.

I went to three different stores to try to find everything I needed. All sanitizing wipes were gone, only one store had hand soap, and it goes without saying there wasn't a bottle of Purel in sight.

While paying for a few things at the last store, the cashier (who wasn't wearing gloves, mind you) scanned each item, sniffled, then looked at me and said, "It's cold, isn't it?"

My stomach sunk. It wasn't cold at all. She had chills, which means she had a fever, which means she had the virus, and she had just touched all the things I would be taking home with me and putting into my mouth.

"It's not too bad," I said nervously.

I got home and considered everything I had bought contaminated. 

I immediately sanitized my phone, my doorknob, the fridge and freezer doors, and my faucet handles. Excessive? Sure. But my years of hypochondria, anxiety and teetering on the verge of being a germaphobe were finally proving themselves to be useful. I was far more likely to kill the virus in its track using my handy-dandy Paranoia Protocol.

I would come in, take everything out of the bags and place them on my table while I still had gloves on. I had touched them with gloves on in the store, and therefore both the gloves and items were already contaminated.

I had read that the virus could live on surfaces for several days, and so I wouldn't be touching any of these things willy-nilly until then. I took my gloves off with as minimal skin-to-glove contact as possible, and washed my hands while singing "Happy birthday" twice. I then realized I had forgotten something in my purse, so I added that to my contaminated pile on the table and carried out the whole hand washing/happy birthday routine all over again.

While it was clear what state my mind was currently in, I now also wondered what state my body would be in after weeks of consuming canned soup, tuna, mac and cheese and Pizza Pops.