WARNING: This is not my usual light hearted Blog
Today is the 25th January 2011. It was my first day back at work after being off for a period of six weeks due to another M.E relapse. When you are fit and healthy, having six weeks off your work seems like you have won the rollover jackpot in the Euro Millions. However, when you’re feeling like you have just woken up from being in a coma for over a year after being ran over by Military Battle Tank several times, those six weeks off feel more like you have been sent to hell to be tortured by demons as punishment for a crime to horrifying to speak of. Hence, when those six weeks were up, I was actually really looking forward to going back to work. I thought I was feeling well enough. I thought would be able to handle going back. I thought if I took it easy and didn’t try and do too much that everything would be ok.
I thought wrong.
I have realised now that it has become way to easy for me to pretend to everyone that everything is fine by put on a smile, laughing it off when I feel as if I am going to pass out after walking up set of stairs or to ignore the fact that my arms and legs are aching to such an extent that all I really want to do is sit down and not move them for a minimum of seven years. This however, is only a short term solution. In the long run, it doesn’t quite work like that. In the long term, the more I try and pretend that everything is ok, the more apparent it becomes that everything is far from being alright.
After my first day back at work (on reduced duties I would like to add) I came home feeling as shit as I did at the start of those six weeks of hell. I am not ashamed to say that when I came home I cried. I cried because I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep for the rest for this year and the next. I cried because at 23 I couldn’t even do a single days fucking work without feeling like absolute crap. I cried because I was annoyed that I would have to go through everyday feeling like shit, uncertain as to when I would start to feel normal again. But what I cried for most of all, is that this stupid fucking Myalgic Encephalopathy or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or what ever the fuck you want to call it has changed me and changed my life to such an extent that I am no longer living life, I’m just existing. And there is fuck all I can do about it.
*Please note all the names of people in my blog have been changed to their celebrity or fictional character counter part to protect their identity. Under no circumstances should this be a reflection of the named celebrity or fictional character.
Title taken from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” By Truman Capote
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