Just wondering how much of my life is spent stopping myself from doing the things I want to do.
I wanted to try to do some baking by myself today. I wanted to spend my precious energy on something nice; on something I haven’t been able to do in a very long time.
But I did something only 4 days ago and so it’s too soon to do something else just yet. My body is trying hard to convince my brain that it’ll be fine; that there won’t be too much of a fallout. But my brain knows better by now.
My Grandad would say “If in doubt, don’t.” He meant it in terms of driving when you’re judging whether you’ve got time to pull out into the road or not, for example. But I think it applies here too.
Sensibleness nearly always wins out.
Maybe tomorrow…? We’ll see.
Weighing up whether the inevitable payback from exertion will be worth it, or bearable, is something people with chronic illness become accustomed to.
If this illness ever gives with one hand, you can be sure that it’ll take with the other.
The relapse took away any choice I had in what to do with my incredibly precious energy. There was no choice. Any energy was needed to digest food and keep my organs functioning as they should.
With progress comes the return of choice. And that choice can be bittersweet. I yearned for choice when I could do little more than get from my bed to the toilet with help. Now I have choice I’m back to a near-constant analysis of how I’m spending my energy.
Disclaimer: Yes, I am well aware of my good fortune in having a choice at all.