Saturday, 16 August 2014

Fatigue #spoonie

How to describe this fatigue?

I'll try. Without hyperbole, and as honestly as I can. These are some of the things I think and feel.

Every limb is made of solid concrete. Moving it even the smallest amount needs all my resources.

When I walk, it is through deep, cloying mud, that pulls me back and down. If I don't get out of the marsh soon, I will drown.

Sometimes I hold the sides of my head. The muscles of my neck are too tired to hold my head upright.

I lean against the sofa back and relax the muscles that have been working so hard to maintain my posture. I'm melting into the cushions. I could never move again, even if I wanted to.

I fall asleep when I want to stay awake, and stay awake when I want to sleep.

My dreams are of waking up feeling rested, just once.

My brain is stuffed with cotton wool, but not bright and white and fluffy. It's old, and grey, and congested. The spaces are half full with oily fluid that moves unpredictably, confusing my thoughts and blanking my memory.

I'm safe here, on my sofa. If the house went on fire, I would stay here. I don't have the energy to move. I'm safe here. And so tired.