I See This View A Lot.

Fatigue attaches to me like a second skin. Occasionally I slip out of it, but usually not.

When it strikes, I hit my chair and rest. Sometimes for an hour, sometimes all day.

Fatigue is different than being tired. A nap usually ends tiredness. Fatigue laughs at naps. They have no power over fatigue.

My Lyme-induced fatigue feels like this:

My body feels heavy all over, as if I have lead in my veins.

I have heaviness behind my eyes. I picture it as black coal sitting behind my eyes, sucking my energy out.

I sit down in a chair and wonder how I will get back up.

Going up and down the stairs is exhausting. Sometimes I do it at a snail’s pace.

Sometimes I don’t have the energy to shower (and I am a shower-loving person).

My brain feels like a molten pile of cotton candy and it literally hurts to think.

So, it’s a blast.

This probably sounds a lot like depression. I have been depressed, and I have suffered fatigue, and I can tell you fatigue is different. It’s a beast. Oft misunderstood, judged, and not taken seriously. I’m here to tell you it’s real as a heart attack, as my husband would say.

I have spent a lot of time being frustrated about the way fatigue gets in the way of what I want to accomplish in life.

However, over time I have come to understand the futility of getting frustrated about things I can’t control, so I adopted a motto:

“Make hay when the sun shines. Rest when it doesn’t." 

I try never to lose sight of the fact it’s a blessing I am able to rest when I need to, unlike many who struggle with this dread disease yet still have to go to work.

In spite of the fact I am oh-so-tired, and my brain hurts, and I am in my chair for the foreseeable future, I have gratitude.

I have a husband who loves me, supports me, and works so I can rest. I have a daughter who is my whole heart. And the sun is streaming in as I rest.

I am in my chair, but my heart is full.