My scary story.

I hate being sick really more than anything. The other morning I had probably the most frightening moment of my life. I was in the middle of a dream and in the dream I couldn't breathe. I then realized it wasn't the dream, I in fact wasn't breathing. I always thought is was just over dramatization when people on TV shot up in bed but I actually did. I woke not being able to get air down my throat. My heart was beating super fast and what seemed like minutes I was trying to gasp for air. It felt like someone stepping on my wind pipe. That was about 6ish and I didn't go back to sleep. I have been sick this entire week and last night my fever really peaked. I was under several blankets and was still shivering. I was afraid to sleep but at the same time I knew I needed to. I awoke this morning in the same position I fell asleep in which is never a good sign since I toss and turn so much in my sleep. Anyway, all of this is bad but really what scared me the most is that I was in bed in a house by myself. The roommates had left for the weekend on Thursday and I was convinced I was going to die in this house and their cats were going to eat my face. I already have that fear because well they are cats.

It's not so much they dieing alone thing because really unless I was taking people out with me we all die alone. It's just that I don't want to die when someone could call 911 and save me. That just seems unnecessary. The upshot is I am not dead... yet.