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Hopelessness Over Repeated Setbacks

When things seem to improve, a new variant like XEC emerges, triggering a cycle of progress followed by setbacks leading to feelings of helplessness and despair.

By Jacktone OtienoPublished about a year ago 3 min read
Hopelessness Over Repeated Setbacks
Photo by Giulia Bertelli on Unsplash

A Flicker of Hope, Extinguished Again

People sat by the windows, staring out at the dim city streets. It had been two years since the world had first changed, and though life had begun to feel almost normal again, that fragile sense of relief was shattered when news of the XEC variant broke. The headlines, warnings, and rising case numbers had crept back into daily conversations, dragging them down with the weight of it all.

For a while, there was hope. The vaccines had come, restrictions had eased, and they had allowed themselves to believe that maybe—just maybe—they were on the other side of this nightmare. They had even made plans: long-postponed trips with friends, family reunions, return to the jobs they loved but had been forced to leave. They had imagined a life without masks, without distance, without fear.

But now, everything felt like it was slipping away again. The XEC variant was spreading rapidly, undoing the progress they had fought so hard for. Plans were being canceled, restrictions tightened once more. The sense of déjà vu was unbearable. People had thought they had reached their breaking point long ago, but this—this felt different.

They were exhausted. Not the kind of exhaustion that sleep could fix, but a deeper, bone-weary fatigue that came from living in a constant state of uncertainty. Every time it seemed like they were close to the end, another wave hit. Another variant. Another setback. It was like swimming toward the shore, only to be dragged back by the tide again and again.

People remembered the first months of the pandemic—how scared everyone had been, but also how united. There was a sense of shared purposes, of fighting something together. Now, they just felt numb. People were tired, divided, some even indifferent. And they couldn’t be blamed. They felt the same, too tired to care, too frustrated to find the energy to hope again.

Their phones buzzed with another news alert: cases rising, hospitals filling up, yet another reminder that the end wasn’t near. They tossed the phones aside, lumps forming in their throats. It was hard not to feel foolish for ever believing things would get better. They had let themselves feel hope, and now, that hope felt like a cruel joke. The cycle of progress and setbacks had worn them down to the point where they wondered if they had anything left to give.

Friends and families tried to be optimistic. "We’ve come this far; we just have to push through this wave," they’d say. But they couldn’t muster the same faith. they couldn’t imagine another round of lockdowns, another period of isolation, more weeks spent avoiding people they loved. They missed the spontaneity of life, the joy of making plans without the constant dread that they’d be canceled at the last minute.

What hurt the most was the uncertainty. How long would this go on? Would it ever truly end, or would they be stuck in this cycle forever—rising, falling, rising, and falling again? Every time things looked up, the rug was pulled out from under them, and it was becoming harder to get back on their feet. They had started to wonder if there was any point in hoping for normalcy anymore. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the new reality they would have to live with.

Their hearts ached for the life they had lost, for the people they used to be. Before the pandemic, they had dreams and plans, but now it felt like they were just surviving, stuck in limbo. What was the point in dreaming if every time you tried to move forward, something knocked you back?

As night fell, people curled up on their couches, staring into the darkened rooms. They couldn’t find the energy to turn on the lights, and the silence felt heavy. All they could do was wait—wait for the next wave, the next variant, the next moment of disappointment. They didn’t know when or if this would end, and the not knowing was the hardest part of all.

For now, all they could do was sit with the feeling. The hopelessness was suffocating, but somehow, they had to keep breathing through it. Maybe tomorrow would be better, or maybe it wouldn’t. But for tonight, all they could do was wait for the storm to pass, if it ever would.

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