I am choking. I am suffocating. I am gagging I am retching, I am gasping for air. I am asphyxiated, I am smothered. I am blocked, I am obstructed, I am all fucked up. I am drowning. I am immersed. I am drenched, I am swamped, and I am fully engulfed. I am falling, I am sinking, I am descending. I am declining, I am plunging, I am tumbling and I am nose diving. I am desperate, I am wretched, I am miserable. I am discouraged, I am down casted, I am demoralized and I am desolate. I am grieving, I am tormented and I am plagued. I am distressed, disturbed, unsettled, bothered, irritated, agitated and frustrated. I am silent. I am fighting. I am writing while delighted and enlightened that my writing has ignited a little light, and feeling somewhat brightened. I am feeling lighter, that I’ve managed to calm the tides, I am a survivor. I am a fighter. I am a writer, and I’m surprised that in a time when my chest got tighter, that I was able to decipher the plague inside, that sat in my mind like a poisonous pit viper.