I expend energy by the thimbleful, scooped from a shallow pool, a puddle really. A slow skirt-dance of ripples as I dip in, then back to mirror-stillness.
Pretty, isn’t it, and precious; contrived, controlled; a nice-looking lid on a pot that is close to boiling over. Today I want to burn, cleave, clobber!
I wake, each and every morning, delirious with hunger for an active day. Suggestions in a quickly refuted study, that exercise and CBT (I’ve tried the latter, and much else) can overcome mind-numbing, bone-crushing, all-encompassing fatigue and monstrous pain-levels, make me blister with rage. Positive attitude, anybody? All those I know were industrious, enterprising, socially engaged people and fully in the world before the fall. I used to hike, four, six, eight hours; loved to get up early, roam the streets of London on the way to work. Now I crumble traipsing to the kitchen, spend endless periods supine. Who would want this?
Writing (iPad on belly) sustains me. My output frustrates. I say ‘today’ when it’s taken half a week to pen these lines, minutes at a time. Lives literally collapse under the weight of M.E., meet mostly disregard, and all I do is whisper.
More biomedical research, now! I am straining at the leash. We all are.