Rest

I wish I could rest.

Real, deep, fulfilling rest. Laying my head down on a soft pillow and closing my eyes, without feeling the anvil resting on my chest. Sitting in the sun and listening to the birds in the trees, without feeling the heat of the sun’s rays set fire to my skin, my body scream from the exertion of my pose, and my mind in agony for being too long away from home. To justΒ be – without being ill.

There is a great irony in being too unwell to rest. What I call “rest”, what occupies most of my time, is no more than a forced cessation of motion by a body that has no more reserves. It is the downpayment into a bank of energy which has been emptied, and I cannot risk letting run into debt.

Someone once said to me regarding chronic illness, “even existing is an effort.” And it’s true. There are no breaks, and rarely a moment when you don’t feel the full force of your illness crushing your body.

Sometimes I forget, for just a brief second, what my life is – when laughing at a scene on TV, being engrossed by an online article. Then the moment passes, and I realise most people aren’t hiding inside behind drawn blinds, night after night, unable to leave the house, or sitting in front of their computer during the day, with no thought of work, study or a life outside of home.

The symptoms of my illness are exhausting, but so is the act of living with a chronic illness for so long. And after seven years without a break, this illness is breaking me instead.

 

An image of the classic 1781 painting, The Nightmare. A woman lies on a bed, her head and arms hanging off the end, while a gargoyle monster sits on her chest.
The Nightmare (1781) – those no rest feels.

Author: Siobhan S

20 something, living in country Australia. Spoonie profile: ME/CFS, dysautonomia, anxiety. All about sewing, knitting and food. Unapologetic feminist and disability advocate.

10 thoughts on “Rest”

  1. You’re not breaking. You’re still posting, still crafting…you’re just taking a break to face the grief of chronic illness. But facing it is another sign of how much you’re fighting. More spoons to ya.

    Liked by 1 person

Thanks for dropping by! I read and value each and every comment you leave. Constructive criticism is welcome.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s