At the beginning of this year, I felt a sense of momentum. This is it; I told myself. This is the one. 

This year, I will recover.

I don’t know how or when, but I will.

I borrowed a book on recovery from the library, and have been slowly making my way through it. Taking in the knowledge and trying to apply it to my fatigue-addled brain and life. 

A lot of it makes sense to me, and I can see all the ways in which my body has been keeping me in its idea of a safe stasis for five years.

Simply put, chronic fatigue is a state of bodily shutdown, initiated to protect from a virus, trauma or busy lifestyle. 

Only, the body gets stuck in that state, and the person stays that way day after day, year after year, in a vicious never-ending cycle. Ordinary activities become overwhelming, and the person learns to fear anything that they will have to ‘pay for later’. 

For me, it’s stairs. Years of pain and fatigue have weakened my muscles, and my legs seize up really quickly when I have to climb them.

As a result, I have learnt that stairs carry with them a high cost. My legs become like lead, and this idea of leaden legs is the first thing my mind jumps to when I see stairs.

Only, it’s much less likely I will get better if I continue to fear stairs. Climbing stairs is good for you, and would probably be very helpful in terms of rebuilding my depleted muscle strength. 

Not multiple flights, of course, but small staircases; just to get me started.

…

Returning to the book, I have been reading about all how chronic fatigue rewires the brain in order to protect itself. Experience leads to fear leads to reduced activity leads to symptoms leads to fear and so on and so on.

As things stand, chronic illnesses are very poorly understood by medical professionals. It is a very under-researched area of medicine, and doctors don’t really know what to tell you once you start exhibiting symptoms.

The two pieces of advice they seem comfortable giving are ‘rest’ and ‘pace’. That’s it.

Take frequent rest and pace your activities. 

In other words, make your life smaller. 

Above all, don’t expect (or even desire) to get better.

And so, over time, you do less and your muscles atrophy, and the thought of doing even the smallest activity becomes a mountain to climb. 

You get trapped in the ‘little life’.

The smaller, safer version of living. A little light exercise, a coffee date here and there, and a few hours volunteering.

I’ve written in the past about how I’ve learnt to be content with less, and I absolutely believe that to be true. I have learnt that human beings are very durable, and that I can manage from day-to-day without all my needs being met. 

Though, I also believe that there’s a difference between living and thriving.

Living with chronic fatigue is like being on the shadowy side of the street while a loud and colourful parade passes by. You desperately want to jump on one of the floats and join in, but you can’t move out of the shadows, and there is no treatment or cure to pull you up.

I barely remember what being part of the parade feels like, as everything about my life has changed. And yet, somewhere deep in my brain, I still feel its pull… 

…

So, how will I rebuild my house? Is it even possible? 

I think, first, I need to address the fear. The fear that is keeping me from thriving.

My metaphorical and literal first step will be stairs. 

So, from now on, I’m going to climb a few staircases, and tell myself before I do, that ‘I can’.

I’ll start with that and see how I go.

Stairs aren’t scary, and my body isn’t damaged.

It just needs rebuilding.