I lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling.
"This is so unfair," I whispered into the darkness. Pausing for a moment I added, "But what should I expect? Really? That's life, isn't it!? Life's unfair." With that I got out of bed for the forth time that night (or should I say early morning? It has to be past midnight by now.) To go to the loo. Overactive bladder? Nope, underactive melatonin... If there is such a thing. If you lay in bed for at least four hours every night then there's a danger that wobbly, quite frankly terrifying, trips downstairs to the toilet can become a welcomed interval between two-hour-long battles against insomnia.
What is happening to me?! Was the main thought going through my mind as I tried to walk down the stairs then, realising this was a truly impossible feat, leant on the wall while lowering myself down so I was sitting on the third step then gently down on to the 4th, 5th, 6th and so on. What is happening to me!? What is happening to me!? What is happening to me!!!? And so it went on. Every day all I need is to lay down, cuddle up in my quilt and soft white fleece blanket. Every night I lay awake, wishing for morning to arrive and break the cycle of laying down, settling, thinking too much (why is my head always so full at bedtime!?) Settling again... Almost asleep... Nope! Uncomfortable, roll over, go to the loo, replay! Lay down, settle, think too much...
***
I think I got to sleep at about 5am.
So it of course made perfect sense for my kind and loving mother to cause a sleep-destroying earthquake (shaking my shoulder) at 6am exactly while whispering "Come on, wake up! Time for school!" Right in my ear.
YOU ARE READING
This Isn't Me.
Genç KurguLayla Brass was popular, very popular... Until she got ill. This is a fictional story. But ME/CFS are real conditions and Layla's symptoms are the only part of 'This Isn't Me' that are based on fact. There is also a recording of me reading each chap...
