It’s a strange and complex feeling to fathom,
When your vital organs shut down,
And you have to fight with all of your might,
To do the often considered simple things,
Such as breathing.
Times of trouble haunt me,
Now deep rooted PTSD,
Has cost me,
Days ago all things considered,
I should have asked for help,
As my life was on the line,
But I recoiled,
Breathless and withered,
The Sandwell ordeal at the forefront of my mind,
Just the idea of once again being mistreated from people so unkind,
Made my judgement blind.
Like a punch bag,
Sharp pain on the left.
Short and sharp,
Unable to catch a full breath,
There’s a fire lit in my chest.
Nothing easing from medicine or rest,
My temperature in a blaze,
In a haze,
I am dazed and confused.
Thank you my love,
For taking care of me,
Giving me hope and the want to fight,
Holding my hand all through the night,
And providing some light.
I must now admit that he was right,
I needed hospital assistance,
But my fear and stubbornness beat his persistence,
He gave in to my resistance.
My will strong,
But mind now weak,
As I have stayed ill lay down,
Beyond the planned week.
Medicating my asthma and this wretched illness,
I have neglected my mental illness,
Ran out of medication,
Over consumed by this complication,
My breath is short,
My mind incomplete,
Tear ducts overworked and nearly ran dry,
Mother I cry,
But she is nowhere nearby.
All this ill health is making me question myself,
I beg for this ordeal to end,
I have no strength to pretend that all is OK,
In fact it all gets worse day by day.
I am holding on,
In hope that soon,
This shall all one way or another,
Be over and done,
Where hence this virus came from I do not know,
But I cannot wait for it to leave and go.