Apparently there have been studies that found that the psychological effects of bedbugs on people are much like those of PTSD, and I see the parallels. I have to talk myself down a lot, and remind myself that I’m doing what I can from my end (hosing the un-sprayed parts of my apartment down with 91% isopropyl alcohol, which supposedly kills them on contact but leaves no residue, heat-treating all my clothes and bedding, living out of ziploc bags, making sure nothing leaves my apartment until it’s been dried on high, etc.), and that millions of people have been through this and pest control eventually fixes everything. I try and take comfort in knowing my apartment isn’t anywhere near the worst-case scenarios that come up on all the google searches. I have a few random bugs, that’s all. Since my place was sprayed, I’ve had two consecutive days with no bites (though they feed once every 5-7 days, from what I understand), and I’m hoping that after a few more treatments, this will all be over. My hourly mantra is “I believe in Brian and the residual effects of his pesticides.”
I will say that since my apartment was treated, I’ve slept better, and feel okay most of the time. Becoming an expert on these damn things has been helpful. All the endless laundering and apartment-cleaning routines give me something to take my mind off of it, and the decrease in bites is heartening, though I know it will be a while yet before i can really get back to normal, and probably a long time after that before I can come down from the paranoia this has created.