I have to remember that it’s OK to rest. Crazy weeks, emotional battlegrounds – giving, giving, and feeling myself drain. I know it was too much, yet still I continued. And this space, a space that I’d filled with plans, took its chance and made me stop.
Essays sit unfinished, deadlines drawing closer. Books pile up to read in a tower that seems more precarious by the day. Washing up piles too, glaring accusingly from the worktop. Mess clutters my mind further, but I cannot even get that far. Thinking tires me. Words tire me. I even feel that breathing tires me.
I fight it, as I always do, for the first day, but as time slips on I give in, letting go of the guilt, putting the growing to-do list to one side for now.
Life with CFS is a game of daring. I know myself more now – the baseline, the stretch, the realisation of what’s coming, looking back from a place way too far over that base. So it hit me full force, as I knew was coming. 3 days on and I wait, and recharge, and slowly, slowly, climb back up to level ground.