All an in-direct result of me having a night away in London.
A mess that is never-ending.
A fall out that is just one in a long line.
And a marble thrown at the TV, rendering it lifeless.
Life is not easy with chronic fatigue, Mr H and I are well, well aware of this. In the last two years since my diagnosis the tiredness, the rows and the frustration has all become a part of daily life. Being a wife with chronic fatigue is hard, being a parent with chronic fatigue is hard and being a husband supporting someone with chronic fatigue is almost impossible. And sometimes I feel like it’s breaking us.
I am tired. He is tired. Yet there are two small children to look after, still a house to run and still work to be done and bills to pay. How do you carry on as normal with so much on your shoulders and no time for yourself? We tell ourselves over and over, in a few weeks, months, years, it will all be different. Better. Yet here we are and the end of this tunnel is nowhere in sight.
I want us to be a team, to bind together as a strong unit against this stupid illness. To show it that come what may, it cannot break us and we will battle through and come out the other side stronger. I feel for the most part we do. But on the inside, behind closed doors, those battles often rage between us and leave us a wreck.
Who did the most this week? Who had the least rest? Who managed to get out and have some form of a social life? Who deserves a lie in tomorrow? For most parents these are common battle, through in chronic fatigue and they become the crux of your life. Day after day, minute after minute, counting down until bedtime when it can be over and you can get that much needed sleep you crave. And then the day is gone. Wasted on wishing, not doing.