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Please Stop Telling Me to Be Productive During a Pandemic

themighty.com

I was lying in bed on one afternoon, and it might have seemed like any other relaxing Sunday. Except the walls seemed to be getting closer and closer, trapping me in a grip of hopelessness.

Breathing seemed like too much effort, depriving me of the last ounce of hope I had left. The world seemed too much, everything was a chore, even the mere fact of being alive.

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