Learning how to stop

My head is full, too full. Full to the extent that getting to sleep is getting harder and I’m struggling to process the day to day demands that I know I should manage. It’s full to the extent that things I would normally take in my stride are bothering me and I’m so tired I slept 13 hours last night, something I haven’t needed to do for a long time.

I also keep ‘writing’ things in my head. I don’t quite know how else to describe it when my head gets full or I have something going on that I’m struggling to process I basically start writing it down in my head, it’s half effective. When I write I always seem to address an imaginary audience. For as long as I can remember it has been how I think, as though, I’m talking to someone else, and having never discussed this with anyone before I have no idea if this is the same for other people too. But for me, it works. As for thought writing, it is a semi-effective method of organizing my thoughts until I am able to get them down properly.

I have been doing this for a while now, knowing I need to write but never quite finding the time or admitting to myself the urgency of it, I don’t always like the way I think or handle things, the way worrying and fretting and overthinking is an intrinsic part of my nature. I have been told to stop worrying a lot lately but I really don’t know how to. I stop worrying by rationalizing, by making myself take a step back and think things through, it’s not a particularly natural process, and a lot of effort goes into it. Especially when it involves interactions with other people as my source of worry. And when I’m tired I find it almost impossible.

And that’s been the problem, too much in my head and being too tired to deal with it properly. At the moment when I look at my wall calnader, it is FULL. Like the fullest it has ever been and in some ways this is exciting, I leave the country for 5 months in May, a trip that I have been planning for as long as I have felt able to plan things. And after 4 years of Chronic Fatigue being able to plan and trip like this is amazing, it’s also really scary.

For the past four and a half years my life has been within quite strict constraints. At times I have felt like a prisoner, unable to get away from an illness that is holding me back. There has been little to really excite me or celebrate, writing my novel being the biggest and best thing and finally being well enough to work again being the other. But now I am able to leave the cocoon of the last 4 years and do something I have been dreaming of forever it seems. I get to travel properly, on my own, doing what I want to do. And just the thought of it is amazing, but the compulsive planning, googling, budgeting and sleep stopping daydreaming is less so.

And when I’m not planning I’m working, 4 days a week for a long time has been fine, but I’m also coming up to my driving test and so have lessons on most of my days off, I have Doctors appointments to get the meds I need for traveling and suddenly it feels like all my days are running together with no chance to rest, and I need to rest.

I can feel myself flagging, My body needs a break for the hectic and exciting life I have been rejoicing in having. I may not feel like I am ill anymore but I’m not out of the woods just yet. I still need to listen when my body is screaming at me to stop, when I feel my ability to deal with the day to day start to slip, when my emotions start to take control and I find myself needing to go to bed at 10pm and sleep through till 11 the next morning. I may not feel ill anymore but I’m not 100% well either.

Admitting to myself that I need to stop is fucking hard. I have never been good at accepting weakness. I hate the fact I can’t keep up with my peers despite the fact I have spent the last 4 years ill. And I know it is silly. I know I can’t do everything I quite want to yet and I need to look after myself and what will happen if I don’t but I still resent it.

Admitting to myself that I need to rest is hard but admitting to someone else I need it is even harder. But for the past few days when I have been looking at my calender, my heart has been filling with dread, I honestly didn’t know how I was going to get through the next few weeks. I was getting irritable and easily upset at work. My head refused to see reason and the thought of forcing myself through the next few weeks was enough to make me want to cry. So I did something I HATE doing. I admitted I needed a break and asked my boss if I could have an extra day off.

I didn’t even quite get to the asking thing. As soon as I asked if we could look at the rota he just asked me if I needed a day off this week. I seem to be pretty easy to read most of the time and the last few days at work I haven’t been myself. So I got Thursday off. Which will give me three days in a row away from work and while two of them are pretty full one will be given over to resting. I could feel the relief seeping through me at the thought of it. I already was starting to feel in more control again.

I went to bed at 10 last night and slept through to 11 this morning. I have a driving lesson at 2 but I have been able to write all this down. My head is feeling clearer already. I may not like to admit I can’t keep up all the time. But finally, I’m learning to stop before I get to crisis point not when I’m falling headlong into it.

skiing

Whether this was worth reading or not it was worth writing.

If you bother to read all the way through cool, my next post is likely to be more enjoyable as it will be focusing to getting ready to leave the country for 5 months and then for the next 5 months this will turn into a bit more of a travel blog.

Anyway, this was what was important to me today!

With love,

The girl with the braid in her hair xxx

What a difference a year can make…

I’m not really the type of person who cares much about the big holidays, Christmas, New Year, Easter, they don’t mean much to me. Tonight I’m home with the cat. I don’t like the noise and bustle of parties and normally the fireworks annoy me as I just want a good night sleep, but as this year comes to a close I can’t help but look back and marvel at the change this year has made.

It’s been 6 years since I was this healthy. 6 years of different illness going undetected and undiagnosed and then controlling my whole life. From the diabetes that I can first see symptoms of at 17 to the Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS) that has been the biggest consideration in my life for the past 4 years.

I welcomed 2015 in Austria, it was a ski holiday but my body seemed unable to ski, I remember everything feeling disconnected, the easy I had had before of skis had gone, persistent exhaustion had left me unable to really ski, I slept 12 hours every night that holiday and it was after that I first saw a Doctor to question my consistent exhaustion. I can only really think of three good things that came out of that year, starting to Kayak again, getting to terms with and starting to lose all the weight I had put on due to starting to take insulin and beginning to work on my novel.

In 2016 I finally got diagnosed with CFS and in 2017 I started to get better. By the end of 2017 I was able to go for a few hours two days in a row! and was ready to start thinking about working again.

At the beginning of this year, I knew I was ready to start working again, the idea was both terrifying and incredibly exciting, for someone who had spent the best part of three years in her bedroom and totally dependent on others for pretty much everything having an independent income and feeling like a functioning human being again was like a dream come true.

I started work on the 9th of January. After my first day of work I was buzzing and so tired I slept for 12 hours. I hadn’t told anyone about my illness intent on keeping it a secret scared that if they knew I would get in trouble.

To begin with, working was hard, I was only doing 2 days a week but I needed almost all my time off to recover from those two days. I slowly built up my endurance, in the summer moving to three days a week and in October to 4. My world seemed to be expanding beyond anything I could have hoped for. It was like being set free from a prison I didn’t even really know I was in.

But it was more than just being able to work again that has made the past year the best I have had for a long time. In starting work, my horizons opened up. I was forced to face challenges that I had been able to hide from. It took me a while to get properly comfortable in the shop. I went in with the attitude that it didn’t matter if people liked me or not, I was there to work not make friends but as much as that works in self-defense (not caring means you don’t get hurt if you fuck up) it’s a hard way to approach life.

I did quite well. Pubs with people I’m not comfortable with for me is terrifying so I always politely declined invitations to go out after work, I found reading some of the people around me hard and there were a few misunderstandings. It was only when I had my appraisal and my manager said that I hadn’t really made myself part of the team did I really start to understand why people go out with each other after work, to get out of it again I just explained I was autistic, these things just aren’t natural for me.

As I moved up to three days and summer brought a less stressful and busy working environment I started to get to know some of the people I worked with a little better. I had more energy and was starting to want to have a little more of a social life. I was still being invited out and still turning the invitation down but something in my head was becoming more interested, there were the people I was around all the time, work friends are a thing. They are not the people you go to when everything is crumbling or to share the best things with but they are important none the less. These people are the ones you spent 9 hours a day with, the one who you bitch about customers with, the ones who check up on you when stress and stupid and rude people get to you, the ones you laugh with and chat to and have to put up with whether you are in the mood for it or not. They may not be your best friends but they do matter.

As summer progressed I started to make plans for next year. I was finding joy in the small things. But being able to plan THAT far ahead seemed like a huge thing after the past few years. Everything was starting to seem possible.

By October I was starting to forget that I was still ill. The CFS seemed so much smaller and I was able to work 4 days a week AND do things in my days off. I was also the month that after 10 months of working at the shop I went to the pub for the first time, which for me was a big deal. admittedly the first time was a quite Pub in Tamworth after the ski test with two people I had worked with since I started and we talked almost exclusively about skis and ski boots and work, but for someone who doesn’t drink dislikes loud noises and busy places it was a big step.

The bigger achievement was that weekend I went to the pub again, this time a bust central London one for someones leaving drinks, I thought I would go and see and maybe stay for half an hour 3 and a half hours later I headed home, I even kinda enjoyed myself.

November brought a feeling of invincibility. The CFS hardly seemed to matter. I had a new overconfidence. I could do anything. I was on this massive high. I started working more, going out more, pushing myself in everything, thinking I was totally healthy again, forgetting that yes I was better but I still needed to take care of myself. The CFS wasn’t gone, I was better but I could ruin all the progress I had made by being stupid.

December brought busier days at work and less time off. My sleep started to become broken. I was dreaming about ski boot fittings most nights unable to switch off my brain. It was getting too much but I didn’t see that. I wanted to be well again, I wanted to be the girl who could cope with full-time work. I kept pushing on.

Looking back over the few weeks before I had my mini breakdown in the ski workshop it’s not a surprise it came to that. Even now, two weeks later and feeling much more in control again, I’m kinda impressed with how much was going on in my head before the implosion did come and that it didn’t come sooner. I was always going to crash, I was doing too much too soon, the signs where there, I just choose to ignore them.

But now, having survived my first Christmas in retail working full time (two weeks only) and having come to terms with the fact my body is much better but I’m not quite fully fit yet I feel a sort of peace. This year has been the one I got my life back. And whatever 2019 brings I know it will be built on the success of this year and the progress that I have made and the friends that have seen me through.

43199596_2228995977111804_3670220859202600960_n37405641_2112056795472390_4544292385210761216_n34909212_1709069342481271_3331648033208139776_n32938344_2023623137649090_489591521163608064_n32911356_2023575044320566_103527029869117440_n32895086_2023586060986131_2651197816201805824_n32155006_2015977585080312_649990343302840320_n26993491_1891435287534543_8581785250428229222_n48144678_747186745658523_5460086812670164992_nMilou!!

My best pics of 2018! From knitted mini skirts to Estonian swings!

And so at the end of this year, I want to thank those who have helped me through it and made it such a good one! and wish everyone who has followed the spewing of my brain this year a happy new year and all the best in 2019!

With Love the girl with the braid in her hair xxx

 

I will smile even when I cry

Two years ago I was finally diagnosed with CFS (chronic fatigue syndrome) after a year and a half of uncertainty. Normally when I have received a diagnose, whether it was diabetes, autism or dyslexia it has been a relief. But CFS wasn’t. I knew I had it, I had known for a while it was the only thing that made sense but that didn’t make it any better.

When you google CFS and look for advice one of the first thing that comes up is from the ME Association. It’s hardly positive, they disagree with most of the treatment options given by the medical professionals and when you read their literature you can’t help but think if you try anything you will make yourself worse.

This time two years ago I was hardly hopeful of getting better. I tried to be but I believed that if I tried anything I would get worse and I was coping as I was. I was scared of losing what little I had and so if you had told me in two years time I would be working three days a week, have finished writing my novel and was able to have the best social life I had had in years I would have said you where dreaming. But here I am.

For the past 6 months, everything has worked out. Everything I have tried to do I have managed. I’ve been riding on a massive high and it has felt like nothing could bring me down again. I haven’t felt ill. I haven’t felt like I’m trying to balance my life and my CFS because it is so much better and I can do so much more.

With that in mind, I decided that I was well enough to go on the whitewater kayaking trip with Westminster boating base to France. I have wanted to go for the past few years but known my body wouldn’t be able to handle it. This year though was different. I was so much better and doing so much more. I expected to have to take a bit of time off compared to the kids but I thought I would manage.

In May I went on a 12 day trip through the Baltic states and Finland and managed really well. This trip I assumed would be about the same.

I got to the base on the Monday morning having had my most intense week at work since I had started. Packing up the trailer took us from 11 in the morning to 3 in the afternoon. The sun was beating down and even with the excitement keeping me awake I was quite tired when we finally squashed into the car to start the overnight drive to the south of France.

By the time we reached Calais, it was almost midnight and I should have been trying to get to sleep but I was wide awake and hyper so took my turn as co-pilot in the front seat of the car. I finally got calm enough to doze off at about half three in the morning and we got to the campsite at about half 8. We were ahead of the minibus with the kids by quite a long way so pitched the tents and had a nap before they arrived.

Things didn’t quite work out for the minibus and so me and the other over 18 with no responsibility, Freddy, got a relaxing if bazaar night alone on the campsite while the rest of the adults went to spend a night with the kids who were stranded two and a half hours away.

The next day the kids arrived and we got into the full swing of things. Despite the heat and two days of not enough sleep I was doing really well and enjoying being in a nice place with nice people. That evening we all went down to the lake to help the kids who didn’t have great rolls improve and cool down in the water. At this point I felt full of hope and expectation. Tomorrow we would be getting on the course and I would get my first proper go at whitewater and in the meantime, we had a really nice dinner and I got an early night.

I had thought that getting up at 8 would be hard but by half 7 the sun was beating down so hard that the tent turned into an oven so I was awake anyway. We ate breakfast and then with a fair amount of faff (there were 14 kids aged between 10 and 17 plus the adults so nothing was going to happen at the peak of efficiency) we got down to the lake for the first session of the trip.

I wasn’t sure what to expect. I have only really kayaked on the Thames. We started with flat water skills, how many rolls can you do in 30 seconds (8), how long can you hold your breath for (54 seconds above water 45 below). It was fun but quite hard work. From the lake, we paddled round to the bottom of the course to practice safe whitewater swimming and using throw lines. I enjoyed it but was knackered by the time we finished. This is as much as I would normally do in a day and there was still the afternoon session to go.

After lunch, I was tired but determined to get back on the water with the rest, we were here to kayaking after all and my initial plan was to paddle 3/4 of the sessions. I got on the water and tried to keep up with the kids but my body was exhausted. After a few attempts of ferry gliding across the river I messed one up and ended up underwater with only one hand on my paddle. I managed to get up again but this failure had me beat. I didn’t think I was going to find it this hard and I was frustrated and tired. I knew I needed to go again but I all I could do was cry. My body was screaming at me to stop but giving up now felt like failing.

I sat in my boat watching the kids feeling like I should be anywhere but where I was. I was here to kayak but all I felt was sheer exhaustion and frustration at my lack of energy. I could have stayed there a long time, silently beating myself up at my lack of willpower but Isobel, my first friend in London who has had endless patience with me ever since we met and has only known me since I’ve had the CFS, came and talked some sense into me. If I was this tired the best thing to do was get off the water and rest. Take a nap with the hope of being better by tomorrow.

I dozed for the rest of the afternoon, laying in a hammock with First Aid Kit in my ears to help me relax and push away the frustration and anxiety that was trying to settle in my stomach. Once I had rested and the others were off the water I tried to keep busy and with people to avoid any untoward emotions from invading. We were all here on holiday and I didn’t want my feelings to bubble over and affect anyone but me.

I tried to go to bed early, hopefully, that if I got 11 hours sleep I would feel better in the morning and be able to paddle. I dozed to the sound of running water and crickets trying to shut my mind off, trying to relax enough to sleep but the feelings that I had been keeping at bay by staying busy started to push into me. I lay in my tent wanting to cry and talk to a friend. If I was at home I would be on the phone with one of my friends but here I felt alone. Isobel was only 5 meters away and if I was at home I would have called her but she was on holiday and I didn’t want to disturb her evening with my troubles.

After agonizing over what the right thing to do was, the sensible part of my brain took control and pointed out that if one of my friends was feeling how I was and I was only 5 meters away I would want them to talk to me so I got up and cried into Isobel’s shoulder and felt much better for it. I finally go to sleep at about half 11.

The next morning I try to have a lie in but the heat gets me up at just a little after the kids. I avoid the busy breakfast tent and go and play with my new friend, a 10-month-old baby, who is camping on the pitch next to ours. We spend and enjoy 45 minutes making whale noise at each other and playing the ‘I’m going to drop something on the floor so you can pick it up for me’ game that all babies love to play.

I join the others on the water, full of hope that today will be better. I try to stay positive and push away the feeling of frustration and exhaustion that are threatening once again to overwhelm me, I manage to break into the eddy behind the rock that we are aiming at. There is a brief sense of euphoria but it’s quickly overtaken by tiredness. Isobel gives me some pointers about how to do it better next time and I smile but I’m so tired I’m almost crying. I give it another go in an effort to look like I’m enjoying myself but all I want to do is sleep. After getting it again and having a go at the next stage I get off the water to go and rest feeling like an utter failure.

At this point, luck intervenes. I feel like curling up in a small ball and crying. I want to be coping and enjoying this but all I feel is tired. I’m trying to keep a smile on my face for the sake of the people around me and the effort is using energy I don’t have. I could have gone and found somewhere quite to cry but I see my little friend in her travel cot while her parents pack up the campsite so I go and play with her instead. There is something about a baby wanting to be with you that I find immensely calming. Making funny noises with my little friend and have her cuddle into me make everything feel better, even just for a little while. I push the knot of anxiety away and just enjoy feeling wanted.

After lunch I catch Isobel and am able to talk to her about how I’m really feeling. Tears quickly make their appearance and I know I can’t do this for much longer. Everything feels impossible and I want to go home, well I don’t want to but I don’t know what else I can do.

I call my mum, immediately she knows something is wrong, I don’t call unless something really isn’t working. I cry and she comes up with an idea, maybe if I had somewhere else to stay that is cooler and I could sleep longer I would feel well enough to paddle in a day or so. I want this to be the case so badly I jump on the idea and within the hour I have somewhere else to stay with the hope that it will allow me to rest and recover.

For the rest of the day I feel better. I nap and then get coffee while watching the kids have a go on a big wave. When Freddy tells me they are going to conga line it and do I want to join I grab my bouncy aid and helmet and quickly find a spot. Now there is a plan I feel in control again and so am able to enjoy myself.

It doesn’t work, while my new surroundings feel rather luxurious compared to the campsite the cabin is still insanely hot and I feel really far away from everyone else. I try to sleep that night but end up sick with anxiety, I know the only thing I can do to make this better is going home. The CFS has meant that things that normally don’t bother me are stressing me out. My autistic brain is fighting for control and can’t find any so is panicking and making me super stressed using energy I don’t have and leaving me even more tired. The two of them are fighting each other and I feel so out of control and exhausted and I know all I can do is get somewhere I feel safe and in control and this is my bedroom back in London.

I walk over to the campsite rehearsing what I will say in my head. I get there, grab Isobel and end up crying to her again as I explain that I need to go home and am waiting till I can call my mum. By lunchtime, I have a flight the next day and am feeling in control again.

It would be easy to say I wasted my time, that perhaps I should have known that it would be too much and maybe I was naive. But I have learned too much in the past few years to say that. Yes, it didn’t work out how I wanted it to but had it been 15 degrees cooler it most likely would have been a success. I enjoyed the camping, there is something magical about falling asleep to the sound of water and crickets. I enjoyed the company of the kids and watching them improve over the time I was there to watch them. And even though I hardly paddled it has made me determined to have a proper go on whitewater (the other day I booked myself on to a 6-week course at Lee Valley which I think will be a little less intense and so manageable).

It was one of those experiences where even though it didn’t work out I felt exceptionally lucky. All the kids were incredibly supportive of my struggles. Everything that could have been done to make my life easier was done and at no point did anyone make me feel like I was wasting their time by being there and not paddling. I felt bad and like I was being really inconvenient but no one made me feel that way. And Isobel was the best friend I could have asked for.

I may have not paddle much and it really wasn’t what I had been hoping for but I’m glad I went. And I want to say thank you to everyone who was on the trip, especially to Mike, Steffie (for the amazing food) and Isobel because I know I couldn’t have been all that easy that week but you put up with me anyway.

Milou!!

me with my little friend

Thank you for reading, I know it has been a long one!

The girl with the braid in her hair xxx

Back to the real word

Before Christmas, I was getting to the stage where I knew I was ready for something more. My body was craving the chance to get out and do something, I was missing human contact and the days that used to feel well filled where getting dull. After three years I was finally at that place I had dreamed of for so long, I was ready to find a part-time job.

Now I know that for most people working isn’t something they typically get excited about. It’s just part of life, something that must be done and put up with, something to pay the bills. But for me, being ready to work made the world feel so full of possibilities, everything felt possible, it was hard not to go round with a mad smile on my face, the years of fighting to get better had worked, the goal I had spoken about for so long felt achievable, I was walking on clouds.

All that I needed to do was find a part-time job that would allow me to work hours that I could manage, 15 a week tops, and get it. Seems simple.

By this point, it had been well over 3 years since I had last worked and my CV had a large gap in from the years of illness. I also wasn’t really sure what kind of job I should be looking for, most of my experience has been waitressing in hotels, something I didn’t really want to go back to, I needed hours that would let me get out of bed at a reasonable time and be back home and ready for bed by 11.

I needed to be choosy otherwise I could burn myself out and end up worse off that I had been, something I was not prepared to do. The chances were this would take a while but I was cool with that.

When my mother came home and told me an outdoors shop was looking for people I thought I would check it out, that was somewhere I could work, I did a bit of looking around on their website and some others and found a position that I quite fancied. After umhhing and arrring about it for a day or so I reminding myself that the worse thing that could happen was that they say no and it was worth applying.

It had been a while since I had to deal with my CV or write a cover letter and even with advice from the internet, it was a painful morning trying to get it right. A few days later I was invited for an interview and despite things getting a little sticky when I said I only wanted to work 15 hours they phoned me that afternoon to offer me the job!

I was more than pleased with myself, not only had I got a job, I had only applied for one and didn’t need to write any more cover letters!

The next day I joined the string of London commuters as I sat on the northern line into town wondering quite how I was going to get through a 9 hour day.

I managed well, adrenalin played a big part but it was by far my best first day of work. I have now had three days. My forth is tomorrow, as I only work two days a week. Fitting ski boots is reasonably interesting (if you like skiing and technical things) and we are busy enough that I don’t have downtime to get tired in.

The day after work is one of rest, knitting, and binge-watching TV but that’s fine, I knew it would be, the fact that it only takes me one day and two 12 hour nights to feel like myself again after a days work is something I’m pretty pleased by, after all, it could’ve been a lot worse.

Working has changed the shape of my weeks drastically, they no longer follow what has become a familiar pattern of kayaking on Sundays and Mondays, knitting on Tuesdays and trying to fill Wednesdays and Thursdays and writing on Fridays.

My novel has been edited so I’m working through that when I feel awake enough, I don’t work on Sunday so I can still kayak (as long as I’m not working Saturday and Monday) and I’m even hoping to go on a ski holiday!

I know there is still a long way to go until I’m am better, but this time last year I thought concentrating for 20 minutes a day was a big deal! So much has changed for the better and I’m filled with hope.

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Flying high above the alps!

Sorry it has taken so long to post, but life has got busier, I plan on writting at least one every two weeks if I can mange it.

Hope you ahve enjoyed,

With love,

The girl with the braid in her hair xxx

Just me and the cat

For most of the week, I am home alone with only the cat as company until about half seven in the evening when my parents come home. I’m used to it. I know how to keep myself occupied but it still gets lonely. I’m used to loneliness. It’s a familiar feeling for me. When your autistic it is an inevitable part of growing up.

As a kid, it was the feeling of not belonging. Of wanting desperately to be part of something but not fitting in no matter how hard I tried. There is nothing more lonely than being alone in a crowd. That feeling of total isolation despite being surrounded by other people. I learned quite young that it was much better to appear to choose to be alone than to let yourself be isolated by others.

I suppose it was part of my survival mechanism, I would tell myself I wanted to be alone rather than admit it was forced on me. I would take myself off to worlds inside my head where I had friends and people were kind. I would live in my make-believe as that was so much better than the real world. I could hide from anything, even myself.

It’s not that I didn’t have friends. I did, but highly emotional autistics aren’t always the easiest people to be friends with. There was also the fact that quite a lot of my classmates didn’t like me, I was too weird for them, over sensitive and easily upset. I remember the feeling when things went wrong, when the people I was trying to be friends with told me that they didn’t like me and I wasn’t to talk to them anymore. When I was told by others that I wasn’t to talk to the one friend I did have at school anymore as they were her friends now. It was totally crushing.

As I got older I made friends out of school. That helped but I still spent most of my time on my own. There is a common misconception that autistic people are anti-social and prefer to be alone. While that may be true for some people it’s not for me. I need human contact. I need friends and conversation, while I am happy to be alone some of the time it cannot be my constant.

Now it’s being on my own with no one to talking to for most of the day. Missing the sound of human voices, needing something to break me from the monotony of daily life. My friends are amazing but spread around the country and therefore I don’t see them very often. Visiting is difficult and tiring and even being visited uses more energy than normal. Then there is the fact that even when I’m able to visit they have their own busy lives, with uni, work and boyfriends.

As I have been getting better my need for social contact has increased. Even though I am now out twice a week and go to a cafe to write (and make faces at the babies) I still find myself needing more. I know in many ways this is a good thing. It means I’m getting better, but it doesn’t stop the feeling of loneliness.

 

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Jakey my closest companion

This most likely will be my last post before the new year! So have a good December!

With love,

The girl with the braid in her hair xxx

 

 

Three long years

It’s hard to think it’s been almost three years since I got the cold that caused the CFS. They have, in many ways been the stranges three years of my life. No one expects to get a chronic illness at 19, it’s the time when people should be out, exploring the world, doing new things, full of energy, but instead, I had to move back in with my parents and try to come to terms with the new limits of my body.

The first year was the hardest by far. No one knew what was wrong with me and it was hard to believe things would get better. At that point, my whole identity was built around the things I did. Climbing, skiing, spending time in the mountains, that was who I was. Losing that and having to move to a large city far away from everything I loved almost broke me.

The second year, I found purpose. I started writing a novel, it was an accident at first. I just woke up one day with an idea in my head and I knew I wouldn’t rest until I followed it. I had the time and even with my problems concentrating I managed to write. Often I would be left exhausted by the effort I made each day working on the novel but it was worth it, it gave me something to focus on and if I didn’t use my energy on writing then all I would be doing was binge-watching TV and knitting.

For a while, I tried to convince myself that this was enough. The internet was full of stories of people who never got better, who had to learn to live within the confinements of CFS and it was hard to believe that I would get better at all. My life, it seemed would be spent inside a house with only my imagination and once weekly kayaking as an escape.

I tried hard to make myself believe that this was enough, that I could live within these parameters. But I knew deep down I was doing that because it felt safe, I was scared of losing the few things I had by trying to get better. While I tried to convince the outside world that things would change and I would get my life back I struggled to believe it. I have written about this in more detail in Stuck in a bubble

Getting better was always the aim, getting to a point where I could live the life I wanted to. I thought as I got better things would just get easier and some things have. (Please note I am not complaining at this point, I am thrilled at my progress but it can still be damn hard) What I didn’t expect was that even as I got better some things would get harder.

As I have said before CFS is a constant balancing act. I’m always having to think about everything I do. Is this worth the recovery time? Am I ready to introduce something new into my week? What might be causing this excess tiredness? On top of this, I have to balance all the considerations for my depression and diabetes. It can feel like I spend half my time trying to balance one aspect of my life against another.

I know this is something I will always have to do to an extent. Carbs will always have to be counted, depression will always need to be kept on top of. It is just a fact of my life. And I don’t mind for the most part but every now and again it gets to me.

Sometimes I want to get away from it all. I want to be able to do things and eat things without needing to think too much. I won’t talk about this readily normally. I don’t want to be seen as complaining after all things have got a lot better. But it doesn’t stop it being hard. Getting better, it seems means more thinking, more balancing and more patience.

It’s also more lonely. Before I didn’t have the energy to go out and too much social interaction would leave me exhausted, I couldn’t cope so I didn’t crave it as much. I was too tired to want to do things, life was boring but I knew I wouldn’t cope with anymore. Now I need more, my week is managed day by day, Sunday is kayaking, Monday is also kayaking (being out two days in a row is a big deal!) Tuesday is recovering from being out two days in a row, Wednesday is normally cooking dinner and lots if knitting, Thursday, and Friday are writing days, either one or the other I will go to a local cafe for a few hours with my laptop and write and Saturday is just dull. I don’t want to tire myself out before my two days kayaking.

For a while, this formula worked but now I’m needing more again. In the new year I know I will need something more, preferably something that pays money. I need to have more interaction with the world. 5 days a week with no one but the cat to talk to all day is too much alone time. But I’m scared that it will be hard to find something that I will manage, after all, it’s been three years since I last had a job and I will only be looking for a few hours a week.

I feel a million miles away from where I was. It’s hard to believe that a year ago I would go days without leaving the house. That I didn’t know if I would ever get better. Now I know I will. I know I will get back to where I want to be it’s just going to take a while. And in the meantime, I will write, kayak and knit my way through each day. Until I run out of words to write, yarn to knit with or the Thames runs dry.

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Sorry, it has taken so long to get another post out, I have been a bit preoccupied with my novel and vast amounts of Christmas knitting!

If you like what I do please help spead the word on FB and twitter ect.

thank you

The girl with the braid in her hair xxx

 

Road to the river

I have always been active. For years I climbed competitively, training 2-3 times a week. I walked everywhere. When I was bored I would go out for 10+ mile walks just the pass the time. I have always been happier outdoors.

So when the CFS meant I was too tired to exercise and even go for a long walk I felt trapped. I remember the first six months I was in London. Having moved from the wide open spaces of the Highlands, London was a claustrophobic prison. My mental health suffered badly. For a long time, I have known that I need to get outside and exercise if I am to keep my depression at bay. The meds have worked wonders but exercise, the outdoors and social interaction are even more important.

But how do you exercise when you have no energy? Where can you get outdoors in such a crowded city? How do I make friends when half the time I’m too tired to manage a sustained conversation?

The less I did the more trapped I felt. My world had shrunk to such an extent I didn’t think it would ever open up again. All the things I used to enjoy I could no longer do. What was the point in even trying, when I knew I would just end up exhausted and not able to leave the house for a week?

Due to having depression I was sent on CBT (cognitive behaviour therapy) course. Most of it was pretty self-explanatory. I taught myself the basics using common sense when I was a teenager, a distinct advantage of being highly self-critical but also being able to look at myself objectively. The one thing that did come out of it, however, was that I needed to stop making excuse to why I couldn’t go out and exercise and start doing something, preferably something that would get me outside and interacting with other people.

Climbing would have been my first choice, I have climbed since I was a kid, but I was having problems with my hips and climbing was really painful so I needed to find something else. I had kayaked when I was younger but had to give it up so I could climb more. It was something I had always enjoyed so it seemed like a good alternative.

Having only recently got to London I didn’t know any places where I could try kayaking but a google search soon pointed me in the direction of the Westminster boating base. Not only was it easy to get to it is a charity and so membership for youth member (which I was) was super affordable (£15 a year with everything you need included in that!) So I went to try it.

It was perfect for me. Sure I got tired after a session, I was always going too. But I was outside doing sport and with other people. Going up to the river every week made time pass more quickly. I had something to look forward too. I was making friends.

The hardest thing was not over doing it and leaving myself too tired to do anything for the rest of the week. I like to push myself, try new things, keep up with everyone who didn’t have CFS. Over the winter I learnt to roll. The sense of elation when I got the boat upright for the first time was one of the best feelings I had had that year. It was a true achievement. It wasn’t something I had to tell myself was good because of the CFS or anything else, I had learnt a new skill and I was excited by that.

I went every week no matter what the weather was like. The days it had to be cancelled due to poor water quality (the Thames isn’t known for its crystal clear water) I would find my mood dipping. I need to kayak.

I could talk about the skills I’m trying to learn, the fact I managed my first (almost) stern squirt the other day but that will mean very little to most people. I enjoy learning the skills, but I often find the line between pushing myself enough to learn and overdoing it a hard one to walk. But there is more to it for me. Kayaking is where my friends are, it’s something I can do that lets me feel the power of nature, something that can be hard to find in such a big city. And my progress over the last 2 years in a boat is showing me how far I have come with the CFS.

If kayaking has taught me anything it’s that I still can do the things I love. Now I’m getting better I can look forward to the day I can try whitewater and river running. I know that in the not too distant future I will be able to keep up (ish) with my friends and play as hard as they do.

For me kayaking isn’t just about having fun in a small boat, it’s my social life, the place I go the spend time with other people and get chased by massive river boats when we get in the way of their pier’s. It’s a break from my everyday routine and a chance to let my hair down and have fun. If anything in the past few years has helped me come to terms with and start to beat my CFS it’s kayaking.

kayaking

Bridge climbing

 

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playing in a boat that fits

 

I hope you enjoyed reading this. Maybe you want to give this great sport a go as well? As always if you want to give me a helping hand and spread the word, please like and share on social media!

With love,

the girl with the braid in her hair xxx