The Big Question

On the edit profile page it offers the opportunity to generate a random question. Today however there's only one question on my mind: what do you do when somebody you love goes mad when you're a little mad too?

Oh it's not a very politically correct question. I could certainly phrase it much more politely, in a way much less likely to cause offence. But that was the way the question presented itself to me when I asked it of a dear friend.

Today I have had to witness from afar as one of my partners, H, goes through the gruelling process of getting another partner, B, (who just happens to be my oldest friend and one of my dearest loves) emergency psychiatric help. Obviously, the initial answer to the question, especially in this situation, is that you provide as much love and support as you can. You offer advice, you have telephone numbers handy, you provide a sounding board for the decisions of both parties.

But then what? I've recently been told that I am an incredibly self centred person. That I have to make everything about me. I sincerely hope that this isn't the case, but it would be a lie to say that this event doesn't affect me, or anybody else who loves or even knows B. It's well documented that putting a loved one into inpatient psychiatric care can be incredibly stressful and gruelling for those close to them. So, if you're already affected by anxiety, depression or any other of a myriad of problems, these can definitely be exacerbated.

I know that for me, my anxiety levels have rocketed, my self doubt is sky high (the main question clouding my mind being could I have done more to help?) and I'm reverting to negative behaviours (only minor ones like having nicotine in my vape and tugging at my nails). So, what do you do when somebody you love goes mad when you're a little mad too? My initial response is that you get a little more mad.

But I think that the most important thing is that you don't allow yourself to get worse. There's no point self flagellating; the best thing you can do, both for yourself and for your loved one, is get help of your own. I think it's obvious that this help should come both in the form of shared support with mutual friends and partners but also in the support that you as an individual need from your own friends. It might be that, as in my case, my close friend knows and has met B, but the friendship is between her and me, meaning although I'm sure the news of B saddens her, the personal effect is much less,

Of course, said friend might have studied to become a psychologist. Which is how your jokey question becomes a full blown blog post. Catharsis. Has this made me feel better? I'm not sure. But I do know that if it ever helps anybody else to know that there's somebody in the same situation and it helps them, then I'll be happy. Mind, that relies on anybody else phrasing the question the exact same, politically incorrect, slightly dopey way that I did to find this blog.

Ugh

Yes this entry is titled "Ugh". It's titled that because "ugh" pretty much sums up how I'm feeling right now!

So, I thought I was just being hormonal, but it seems that that may not be the case. I'm struggling to stay motivated for things, my dreams are getting messed up again (a surefire sign for me that I'm mentally unwell) and I'm starting to get headaches again.

I'd really rather not up my AD dose. I'm fed up of maximum doses. As such, I'm going to ask the doctor about getting a recommendation for counselling and using my health insurance to do so.

I'm never sure how much help counselling is, but I feel like it has to be worth a try.

All the small things!

Not reverted to early 2000s nu-metal (it's actually Girls' Ultimate Night In I have playing!), just my focus at the moment. Whilst I may be unhappy, especially with myself, I'm trying to focus on the little things that make a difference. Things like:

the excitement from a child who'd just discovered that a googol was a number,

or the children stopping midway through PE to come hug me,

the growing number of children who play with me at lunch times,

treating myself to a McDonald's happy meal,

weighing my target weight since before Christmas (and not just naked and on my scales!),

eating sweets and reading a book before napping,

sitting with a glass of cold wine etc.

So, yes, I may not feel able to sing along to the music because I hate my voice, but there are good things out there in the world.

Comment with one of your small things please!

Not sure I'm going to post this. Not even sure why I'm writing it. Just... need somewhere to rant and I guess here is as good as anywhere.

So I'm being hormonal.

Nothing new there.

Tried to go out tonight, managed to stay out for the band but there was no way I was lasting any longer. When tears are running down your face whilst dancing because you're so mediocre at everything then there's something wrong.

On my drive home, I decided to try and think of things I like about myself. I couldn't think of any. So I decided that I'd start my exam marking when I got in. But the system's down. This made me feel like even more of a failure (even though I know it's nothing to do with me). So now I'm sat, with a beer (because if I'm drinking beer I'm not drinking anything more alcoholic), meandering about the internet, fantasising about cutting myself (which I won't) and wishing I didn't hate myself quite so much.

The thing is, I know academically that not only is my life "ok" it's actually pretty great. I have several amazing partners, fantastic friends, a job. But I totally feel like something's missing. There's a little part of me inside that's dead. And, when I'm suffering PMT or having a particularly bad day, that bit eats away at everything else inside me until I just can't bear to go on anymore.

I think I am going to post this. I think it might be good for other people, and myself, to be reminded that whilst I'm definitely getting better, I'm not there just yet.

Thoughts on Sherlock

Warning: This post contains both spoilers for S2E3 of Sherlock and possible triggers regarding suicide.

So, yesterday I watched the final episode of this season's Sherlock. I utterly adore Sherlock. I was amazed that they could make the series so up to date but still really keep the feel of the original novels. The novels incidentally are very dear to my heart as I'd never read them, and so Daniel and I took turns reading them to each other not long after we first met. (For those of you who might laugh; read somebody a story, have them read you a story; it's a lovely way to pass time, and always makes me feel a little squishy inside!)

The final episode of Sherlock was not based on one of Conan Doyle's novels (except for the ending) and I thought that it was telling. I found it hard to keep my interest in it going for extended periods of time, leading to various pauses whilst drinks were got etc. - something which hadn't happened in any of the previous episodes. I felt it was trying to be a little too clever. It seemed to be trying to comment on the rise of fame for fame's sake, a lack of trust in the media and other "hot" issues. But, in my opinion, missed the mark on all of them.

Despite this, by the end I was bawling my eyes out. I've read the Reichenbach Falls story (or rather, had it read to me) so I knew that Sherlock doesn't die. It wasn't this that caused my tears. It was the sheer empathy I felt for Watson. To have to have Sherlock's "suicide note" on the telephone, to be made to watch him jump. Suicide is a callous enough thing, but that, that was just horrific.

This blog has touched before on my opinions of suicide. And I know that people have to be in an awful position to do it. Hell, I've been there myself. Even so, it leaves me so angry when people do it. I can't even begin to explain the amount of pain I feel for the people left behind by it. And I think Martin Freeman did an excellent job at portraying the anger and sorrow in the few moments he had on screen. The speech when he is at the grave is just heartrending. He begs Sherlock not to be dead, and even though I knew he wasn't dead (and so did all viewers moments later when the camera shows him watching Watson), I couldn't stop the tears. I think it's such an elemental moment, that touches anybody who has had death in their lives but especially those affected by the sudden, violent deaths that luckily most of us avoid.

Overall, I think the portrayal of Watson's reaction was done beautifully. I just wish that I felt the same way about the story of Sherlock's suicide. I know we're meant to feel how much he loves Watson, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade - so much so he's willing to sacrifice himself for them. But, he isn't. He knows he's not going to die. All he's doing is removing his suffering at their deaths and making them all suffer at the thought of his. It's the ultimate in selfishness. Now, I know all suicide is selfish, and maybe I'm missing a clever point Moffat's trying to make about it all. But I don't think I am. I think that this was overdone for emotional tension (the phone call, making John watch, John taking his pulse, all the blood (my god so much blood)) and it ended up feeling tacky.

What are your opinions? I'm really interested to know.

Back To Work!

So, today marks my first full week back at work.

And I'm exhausted!

I may only be working ~20hrs a week, but my god it's draining me.

At Christmas, I was really pleased to be able to tell my in-laws how much better I was doing. They even commented on how well I was looking. On Christmas Day and Boxing Day I managed not to nap.

Then I started back working. After over 2 months off, what a shock to the system! I've had to nap every day. Some days I've slept for 4 hours and still slept at a reasonable time at night.

I'd forgotten just how debilitating this condition can be.

And it's making me feel terrible about myself. I feel unbelievably useless. Both with regards to how little energy I have and the fact that I'm now contributing only about 2/3 of what I was to household expenses.

Feeling bad about myself is leading to various self harm fantasies.

Which in turn make me feel worse!

Damn vicious circles!

So, I'm being a little emo currently. With no self esteem and minimal drive.

I tweeted last night, about it being hard to know what "normal" feels like anymore. I don't just mean in regards to being "normal" but also to the worry that every bad day is actually the start of a depressive episode. That the drugs aren't working any more. That I'm losing control.

Ugh, post has turned to word vomit again. One day, I'll write a useful to other people post. Not today.

An extended absence

Apologies for my extended absence. On November 1st I was dismissed from my job, with no prior warning, or expectation.

Needless to say, it threw me a little.

Luckily, I'm quite good with big problems, I just get on with trying to solve them. I just don't like letting people know. One good thing about social media, is that I could let everybody who needed to know (family, friends, anybody likely to ask about work!) know in one easy message. And then just ignore it all until I felt ready.

After 6 weeks, I finally have another job.

I originally looked at staying in search; lots of places wanted to interview me, but on hearing that I'd been sacked, or on seeing how little experience I'd managed to gain in the time I was there, didn't want to hire me.

So I looked at going back into schools.

I can now happily say that I will be working in a school as a LSA from January. It's only a part time role, and is tied to a specific child, so if he loses funding or leaves, my role goes too. However, I met the child yesterday and he is completely lovely! The school seems very nice. And during the interview the headmistress was very keen for me to be teaching in the future!

The school currently has two GTP students, so it seems hopeful that I can follow my child through to the end of school and then start training to be a primary teacher. (He's currently in yr 5 and next start date is Sept 2013).

Looking back, I've realised that the one thing I regret is doing a secondary PGCE rather than a primary one. It seemed a good choice at the time, but it just wasn't where my heart lay.

So, here's to the future. I may be very poor for the near future, but it looks bright.

Immunodeficiency?

I don't know how many of you still get excited when you see articles about CFS/ME. In fact, if you're anything like me, your heart probably sinks a little. After all, it's usually just more confirmation that we're either all mad, or some of us are mad, or none of us are mad but they're not sure how.

I did think this story was interesting though: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-15401746

Mostly, for the very sensible comments of the researchers involved (basically; yeah, it worked. Now let's see if it really works).

Any opinions my fellow sufferers? Or those of you who don't suffer from this?

A Share

Having a very bad physical health day. More aches and pains than I've had for months and very little energy.

So instead, have a link to a fantastic post on a blog I've recently discovered:
http://aliciajduffy.blogspot.com/2011/10/day-to-day-life-of-being-mental.html

It really struck home with me, having to constantly question your own feelings.

I did it!

So I booked a doctors appointment today. I haven't been sectioned.
Yay! I have however been given a new drug to try; Prozac.

Now, I know that stereotypes are bad but in my mind, Prozac is the
crazy drug. I'm about 99% sure that I think that only because of the
media. After all, it's probably the most famous SSRI and the media
thinks that anybody on an SSRI is either batshit insane or a
malingerer. But even so, there's a little voice in my head that shouts
"see, told you that you're fucked up".

I guess this is one of those times that the CBT comes into play.
Telling the voice to STFU and doing what it takes to get better. Shame
the voice is so persistent.

My own prejudice makes me more determined than ever to try and fight
the myths about mental illness though. I really wish that I had the
energy to be able to volunteer for a charity like Mind or SANE. I see
Purple Persuasion's blog (worth a read if you don't already follow it)
and wish I could do half the things that she does. Or even write half
so eloquently on the important subjects I ignore whilst wallowing in
self pity!

But, the CFS gets in the way. If I work full time, and actually want
to try keep a social life, I don't have the time to volunteer, or even
to write considered blog posts.

Speaking of the CFS my doctor claimed there was nothing could be done
for me. And I was so flustered from admitting to the SA that I just
smiled and nodded. I even forgot to ask for a new prescription of the
beta blockers. Guess I'll see in the next fortnight what effect
they've actually been having.

Speaking of the next fortnight, new medication means dealing with new
side effects, and low dosage means possible low moods. Apologies in
advance if this blog gets ignored, becomes very emo or just generally
becomes unreadable. Also apologies if you know me in RL for the same
things!

Mental Health Week

So, it's National Mental Health Week.

I guess my response is, so what?

I gave a shoutout on my Twitter, to anybody who was not as mentally healthy as they wished.

The BBC and various other news sources will trumpet stories about mental illness. And real people. And the "pain behind the star's smiles" and other such rubbish.

How much of it do you think actually makes a difference?

I know how much I think. Very little. Mostly it's just lip service, or titilation - "look, this person heard voices, now they have a job and partner everything" *rolls eyes*

But at the same time, if even one person who is struggling, sees something that resonates with them, and gets help, minimising their suffering, then it's all worthwhile. Right?

Even if it does make me feel a little bit like a zoo exhibit. Or perhaps an endangered creature.


What do you think?

As an aside, still not been to see the doctor. I keep putting it off, and the difficulty of getting appointments makes it very easy to do...

Now what?

Sorry for the lack of posts lately. I’ve been very tired and promised my partner that I wouldn’t blog whilst I’m meant to be working. Well, this is my lunch break so hopefully this doesn’t count!

I’m in a little bit of a sorry state at the moment. I’ve developed some god awful cold over the weekend (I’m blaming my boss!) and also had a very late night on Saturday (although I’d kind of prepared by sleeping for 18 hours the night before!).

The night before was also the closest I’ve ever come to actually committing suicide. It scared me a little. Although not as much as it scared my partner.

It wasn’t particularly dramatic. But it was measured, and thought through. And I started going through with it. It was nothing too terrible. I took 4 co-dydramol before my partner found me. Yep. Only 4. Pathetic I’m aware. But not to me. Not when I was doing this, taking a tablet only every time I’d counted to 150 and asked myself if it was what I wanted to do. And the answer was consistently yes. And would have remained so.

So, this scares me.

I should probably make an appointment to see the doctor. I also need to see them to get support with regards to my ME. But I daren’t. I’m so worried that they’ll tell me it’s all in my mind. That I’m a hypochondriac who is wasting their time. I know labels aren’t great, but without my labels, what am I? A fat, lazy cunt who can’t cope with the real world is what.

*sigh*

Thanks if you’ve read this. Please don’t laugh at me for my pathetic SA.

Social Media

I'm currently taking a break from non-blog based social media. And, whilst that means this post probably won't be seen (I normally pimp new posts on Twitter and G+) I thought I'd share my reasons why and a few thoughts in general.

The main reason I'm taking a break from SM is a lack of perspective. I found myself getting upset that tweets weren't being replied to, or that my status update got 3 comments and such-and-such's got 52. I started thinking that it was because I wasn't worth talking to, or that I was inherently less valuable than them.

Obviously, this is absolute rubbish. The 52 comments could all have been telling the person what a dick they are. Unlikely, but possible. The association between comments/tweets and popularity or being liked, is (almost) entirely in my head. And whilst logically I know this, I think I need some time away to try and truly see that. (BTW - I'm just as bad with this blog, I stress constantly about the lack of comments or links to it and such like).

Part of this stems from various issues I had at secondary school. Children are cruel and I was a little bit stupid. Perhaps one day I'll expand on that, but for now, it's enough to know that I was left with absolutely zero self esteem. I put on an act. I pretended. And eventually I got some back. But even now, nearly 10 years later, I still feel like I'm unworthy of being liked, let alone loved. I assume that people put up with, rather than enjoy, my company.

If I've ever gotten in touch with you, feel privileged. I hate to initiate contact, I assume people will be pissed off by hearing from me. I always assume people talking to me in groups/when I'm out etc. are just being polite and can't wait to get away from me in actuality. Slowly, I'm starting to feel less like that. On good days I even admit I might have friends. But most days? Most days I assume that everybody secretly hates me and wants me to leave them alone.

Who cares?

I suddenly feel overwhelmingly suicidal. I know it's not going to happen (see previous posts) but it doesn't change the feeling.

The problem is, who do you tell? Do I tell me boss? Let him know that the reason I'm sat here, doing no work but clawing at the desk is because I desperately want to be clawing at my body instead? That I don't want to go home because I don't trust myself to be there alone, and so, despite the lack of productivity, being at work might be best for me?

Do I tell Twitter? Reassuring messages might be a good thing, but I don't want everybody knowing. I feel awful enough as it is.

Facebook's a definite no - too many family I don't want to know anything

So I've turned to here. Bizarrely the most public of all the places

But also the least frequented

So I'm rambling at you, my imaginary reader

It's you I'm telling that I could go home via three separate pharmacies with ease

That there's a tool shop I could buy stanley knives from around the corner

That my nails would feel delicious pulling along my skin

That the car park below my office window is calling to me

I don't know what to do

One Day

One day soon I'm going to die.

It's probably going to be at my own hands.

And nobody will cry

Because I'll have deserved it

A Day In The Life

Inspired by my friend Dave and this post, I thought I'd give a few snippets into my daily life, and the choices I make.

Firstly; wake up? Or stay in bed? It takes me about half an hour to actually get up on a normal day. Sometimes I manage to leave the bed and get as far as the sofa, or even into the shower, in less time. But if I do, I'll be stopped for longer later. I always want to stay in bed, there is no day I wake up looking forward to greeting the world. I always feel like I need a few more hours sleep.

Shower or smell? There are days when my energy is low that the extra 20 minutes in bed that not showering will give me are justified in my mind against the fact that it makes me a grubby bum! So, sorry world, I'm afraid I will smell.

Which tube station? It sounds daft, but I live equidistant between two tube stations. One is up a hill, the other requires me to walk across a footbridge and therefore climb steps. Lately, I've been choosing the hill because I've been leaving with my partner and he prefers that station!

Which train? Trains come to the station from two ways, one the main line, the other a single station up. This means that the trains from Mill Hill are always empty; I'm guaranteed a seat. However, they don't go via the correct branch. I have to decide every morning whether I need the seat for most of the stops or the convenience of not having to change and wait for trains at Camden. Usually, being able to sit is what I pick.

Bus or walk? My office is a 15 minute walk from Kings X. Easy enough to do, yet most days I choose to get the bus because that 15 minute walk can be enough to tire me out for hours. Of course on the bus I have to suffer the glares of people who are pregnant or slightly older because I'm sitting in a seat, especially if it happens to be a priotity seat. They are for those "less able to stand" and trust me, I am less able to stand than most people! People seem to think that unless you have a wheelchair you're not disabled (but that's a rant for another time!)

Stairs or lift? My offiice is only on the second floor, and when I get in the lift, people give me funny looks for pressing floor 2 and some of my colleagues laugh at me. But, using the lift rather than the stairs each time helps me save just those little bits of energy that help me make it through the day.

By this point in the day my head has usually begun to pound. The low grade ache I always have has become a continued thud and I reach for the painkillers. Which leads to the next question; to codeine or not to codeine? The codeine does more to remove the headache than OTC medications, but it's also highly addictive. I have to bargain with myself about when I'm alllowed codeine.

I struggle through my day at work, often spaced out, sometimes barely able to keep my eyes open. Coffee and energy drinks are friends, if not always effective.

Then comes the time to go home. I have all the same issues as the journey in before I'm finally home.

Once I am I have to decide rest well or actually see my fiance? Some days, like the past 2, this is no choice. I get home and fall into bed, yesterday I nearly didn't have enough energy to make food (a sandwich with shop bought sandwich filling). But most days this is a choice I have to make. And a horrible one it is too.

Then, I sleep, the alarm goes off and it all begins again.

Bad Times

Currently really struggling with energy levels.

Headaches are being helped a little by the beta blockers and codeine. It's getting a bit silly trying to decide whether to have a headache or risk the codeine addiction though! Fingers crossed this will be a short term problem and the headaches will become much less common.

My main struggle now is energy and concentration levels. Both are currently rock bottom. I'm happy to hear suggestions to help with either. I won't guarantee I'll try it, or that I haven't already tried it, but I'd like to hear them anyway.

I'm struggling at work because of it. It's making me actually consider seriously whether full time work is right for me atm. Unfortunately, money-wise and self-esteem wise I don't think I have a choice, whether it's right or not. I know that even if it's affecting my physical health a little my mental health would be affected much more by the admission of inability.

It's always a case of balancing the scales and sometimes I just want to tip the scales over!

A blogger over at Purple Persuasion (http://purplepersuasion.wordpress.com/) did a great post I shared about "Ten things not to say to a depressed person", and, I just want to say a huge thank you to everybody, because 99% of the time, none of you say those things. Nor do you remind me how much worse it could be, how many friends you know with ME/CFS/Fibro who can't get out of bed etc. I think those stories are meant to make a person thankful, but in my case they just make me feel absolutely awful that I'm complaining and that you don't take me, or my suffering, seriously.

With my energy levels being so low, I've found I've been mentioning my CFS a lot around the office. It makes me feel bad. I'm never sure how much is the right amount of explanation and how much just looks like I'm trolling for sympathy. I mean, whilst I do want sympathy (after all, who doesn't?), that's not why I'm telling people.

This weekend is the bank holiday weekend. I'm glad of the extra day off. So, so glad.

Doctors

It's been asked of me before why I feel comfortable telling things to the whole world via my blog that I don't feel comfortable telling a doctor.

There are many answers I could give to that question. But there are two main ones.

The first is that I've had some bad experiences with doctors. For instance, when I first started suffering from depression I finally felt that I should go to the doctor (my SI had escalated to a new point for me and it scared me). I never even got the opportunity to mention this to the doctor. Upon hearing that I couldn't sleep, couldn't concentrate and was worried I'd fail my exams and then be a failure at life he told me to take a hot bath. That was the entirety of his advice. Oh, and to revise less. Considering I'd just told him that there were days I couldn't even get out of bed to go to school, I'm not sure why he thought I was revising too much!

It had been a huge step for me, going to the doctor. I already felt like it was something I shouldn't be feeling and should just get over with. Or a bit of a hypochondriac with "med student syndrome" as we'd not long covered depression and its treatments in my Psychology course. The dismissal without listening to me had a profound impact on me.

The second reason is less tangible than the first, but related. It's because I have an image in my head of who I should be. And that person is strong, self sufficient and doesn't ask for help. She certainly doesn't want to die, or be so weak as to SI/abuse alcohol or any of the other things I do. Speaking about it on here allows me to disassociate from my problems slightly. I could be writing anything, it could be fiction. But I'm still talking about it. Linked to my image of myself is my image of mental health problems. Logically I know there's nothing wrong, but for me there's a big leap between someone being a little depressed and someone being suicidal. And it's a standard I apply only to myself.

If somebody I know admitted to being suicidal I would worry for them and offer all support I could. Whereas I feel that for me it means I'm weak and selfish and should be ignored.

So, Wednesday when I went to the doctors I made a promise to myself. I would answer the questions I was asked honestly. As honestly as I do when I fill in the HAD tests and other things on the CBT site.

And then, the doctor was a locum. He listened, which was good. But there was no assessment of my mental state.

In a way, I enjoyed feeling empowered. I was asked for my opinion of my treatment and the pros/cons of changing AD were discussed. (I've been having considerably more bad days than good days lately, and I felt something needed to change).

For those who care, the result was that I'm now back up to the maximum daily dose of Citalopram, I'm back up to 3x daily on the beta blockers and I also have a prescription for co-drydamol (which I would love to hear about people's experiences with).

CFS Treatments

Having a bit of a shit mental health day. Contemplating change, which I cannot stand, and feeling the need to completely withdraw from people. Going to try not to, as it tends to make me worse, but if I do stop talking to you (not that I talk to many people anyway) then just gently prod me to let me know that you do want to talk to me.

Should be working right now, but, can't focus enough. On the verge of tears and just feeling pretty low.

So instead I thought I'd post my thoughts on something I saw a while back and tweeted about but never further expanded upon.

I read this post on the BBC news website: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-14326514

For those who don't want to click for whatever reason it's about a scientist who is researching the cause of ME in the hopes of bettering treatments. Except he's being sent death threats. By people with CFS/ME!

The reason? He's looking at possible psychological causes for the condition.

Now I don't know about anybody else, but personally, I would be more than happy to be told that CFS was a psychological syndrome and there was treatment for it. Much more than I am with the general waftiness there is about the condition atm.

It seems people think that being told a condition is psychological somehow diminishes its "realness" and are offended by the thought that their suffering isn't real.

Whilst I can see where these people are coming from, I truly hope that it doesn't stop people researching the condition (from whatever angle).

What do other people think? Especially those of you who are fellow sufferers.

Sleep

Firstly, apologies for lack of replies to my last post. I will reply, but, at the moment I'm thinking hard about what was said.

Partly that, and partly I just haven't had chance.

As you may have guessed from the title, this post is about sleep.

You know, that thing you look forward to at the end of the day?
When your body and mind get a chance to recover, and rest.

Where you wake up ready to face the world for another 18 hours.


Unless of course, you suffer from a chronic fatigue disease.


Last night I slept for 14 hours. Whilst unusual for a weekday (I'd gone home ill from work), 14 hours is around the minimum I will sleep on a Friday night and Saturday night.

There were times, before I learnt to manage my energy a bit better that I would sleep for 20 hours.

Imagine that if you will.

I'm sure that for some people it seems like bliss! After all, imagine having the opportunity to sleep for so long. Means no responsibilities to be seen to, nothing to worry about.

Think again. This happened when I was at uni. During my third year. I had lectures to attend, two dissertations to write as well as countless essays.

So, I suppose you could say, not as important as a job. But still something that needed to be done.

But worse than that, imagine sleeping for that long and waking up feeling just as tired as you did when you went to sleep.

Imagine that all your usual aches and pains have magnified from you being in the same position for so long.


Now you're starting to understand how I feel.

It frustrates me. It frustrates me so much. I used to get by on around 4/5 hours sleep a night. I just didn't need any more. Now, if I'm under the weather in any way, there are days when I'm only awake for 5 hours!

I will now thank my lucky stars that, unlike some people with CFS, I don't suffer from insomnia. I think, that that might just be enough to send me to the edge.