(Source: hiboux-belles, via glamourising)
(via rehlm)
(via lnocencia)
(via eggpuffs)
6 months ago to this day, I was admitted to the hospital. 6 months ago, I was put on oxygen to help me breathe. 6 months ago, I collapsed once going to the bathroom and any other attempt nearly collapsed after that. 6 months ago, I celebrated new years in the hospital. 6 months ago, I almost didn’t live. 6 months ago, I was writing out goodbyes and begging to wake up another day.
6 months later, I can shower without help. I can walk up the stairs. I can handle a grocery trip. I’m breathing without the help of oxygen. I’m here.
6 months later, I was diagnosed with panic disorder and PTSD from my near death experience. My anxiety has been through the roof and mentally/physically I’m no longer who I was before I got sick.
Covid wrecked me and the after effects and my recovery hasn’t been easy. I didn’t think I’d be here today celebrating 6 months. I didn’t think I’d be able to laugh and talk again without gasping for air.
Covid, pneumonia and acute respiratory failure. I’m alive. And I’m tired so often and so easily but I’m here. I’m alive.