Eight days ago, I couldn’t properly breathe. Mountains of phlegm crept up my esophagus and remained, occasionally sneaking into the back of my throat and disturbing basic breathing functions. 

Seven mornings ago, my eyes opened, but the rest of me was still asleep. Not exactly paralysis, but almost.  It was crippling without being frightening, and somehow strangely comforting. I had no choice but to release the drapes that cover my eyes and fall back.