My doctor (understandingly): "You have to accept that rest is the best medicine."
My friends (caringly): "Mary, look after yourself: you've been doing too much; you need to rest."
My husband (annoyed): "Will you please just go and lie down! Just rest, for goodness sake!"
My eldest daughter (anxiously): "Mummy, get some rest today please; promise me?"
My youngest daughter (impatiently): "Mummy, when are you going to get better? You're really boring like this!" At least she's honest.
Oh I hate this. I absolutely hate it!
I hate that feeling of weakness and exhaustion that swamps me like a tsunami after every minor physical exertion (and even after every meal). I hate the fact that everyone else is out there, doing things, having fun and I can't (and even worse, absolutely don't want to). I hate the fact that the house is dirty, the ironing pile resembles the Matterhorn and that even a short trip into the garden requires a machete and compass to find a way back.
All that even without the terrible feeling of guilt over rescheduling and cancelling all my business commitments for the next – oh well, how long is a piece of string?
I love to read, but at the moment can only cope with old favourites; anything new or demanding requires too much energy to cope (Sorry, Sarah, I'm looking forward to reading Another Night Another Day just as soon as I'm better), and there's only so long even I can spend reading before my eyes start to jitter uncontrollably.
I love my crafting, but run out of energy after only one card, so it scarcely seems worth getting all the supplies out.
We all know that exercise is good for depression: ha! Someone tell me how to go for a brisk walk when I have to stop and sit down for a rest every fifty metres.
Last Saturday I managed to go out for dinner (with some very good and understanding friends). We left early (much to the children's disgust) but I was still wiped out for the next two days.
It's embarrassing; it's frustrating; it's humiliating.
So, of course, the moment I have even a little energy I'm up ironing, cleaning, gardening – and then collapsing exhausted again having only licked the very tip, the very tip of the iceberg.
Back to the sofa again. (Big sigh).
If I could honestly believe that I will get better faster if I just sit here it might be easier, but I'm really not sure. This thing seems to come and stay as long as it stays. Seventy two days so far and counting...
Yes, yes – I'll rest. Can't do much else really. Darn it.
A Moodscope member.