In a week that was completely dominated by Phillip Schofield, a drama of many truths all of which appearing to have varying degrees of reality, nothing much has happened.
I was sort of waiting for it to happen, the crash. I knew it would because I had been booming so the bust had to come and this was the week that slow descent incapacity begun.
I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia about a year or so after completing chemotherapy. I am no poster girl, I do my best to deny its existence, I look for reasons to explain away symptoms and I push myself to the limit.
And then I go. Sometimes with a crash sometimes, like now, like a deflating balloon where there is just a tiny hole with air seeping slowly out. Then the reality of my diagnosis is hard to deny.
So this is where I am at, I can work but that is it. When work finishes I sleep until it’s time to work again. It’s been far far worse, I am not crying in despair or struggling to walk or talk. I am just so very tired and just pushing myself to the end of each day. Things that make this manageable – working from home, so no commute, comfy clothes and no office noise. Living with people who feed me when I can’t be bothered to prepare food for myself. Knowing it will pass.
My biggest achievement last week; making it to refill day and this shop of dreams. Probably my favourite shop where I live. This visit was for rinse aid for the dishwasher and fabric conditioner. Coupled with homemade bagels from the cafe across the road – this was the sum amount of things that happened last week that didn’t consist of looking at a computer monitor or snoozing on the sofa.
I am going to wait it out and trust the energy levels return very soon.
Much love xx
The Frank Journals 