My eyes pop open as I gasp for air, I can’t even sleep in peace without almost suffocating. It’s never been this difficult to breath before but now I can’t get enough of it. I’ve never thought so hard about inhaling and exhaling but now each breath feels different. In one breath I wheeze and in another I gasp. I appreciate every time I receive a full lung of oxygen, but it’s becoming slower to arrive and quicker to pass.

In finally getting my breathing back to ‘normal’, I see these same white walls I’ve been abandoned too. These past few weeks, I’ve pleaded with the nurses to help my breathing but they rarely get a doctor to check on me. When a doctor does come it’s only to tell me nothing can be done until its an ‘actual’ emergency. As if I can fake the way my body aches or how getting out of bed has become a task I don’t look forward to. Trying to laugh and joke with those nice nurses is now me questioning how many words can I say before my chest tightens, like a noose. I don’t even close my eyes on purpose for fear that this body will play Russian roulette and one day, hit the bullet.

I’m scared and I don’t want to die. At least not here, not like this.