Something that a lot of us chronically ill people have in common is that we have limited energy. A lot of us can only do a small fraction of the thing that “normal people” do. Personally, I only have a couple of good hours each day where I can get out and meet with people, or do work for the SPCA, or even have lunch and shop with my Mom. And if I do that one day, then I’ll probably need to rest the next. And maybe even the one following.

For me, I know a lot of the reason I need so much rest (and have so little energy, a.k.a. “productive time”) is because of the side effects of my meds. I take seven different meds each and every day, and fatigue is a side effect of at least four. Another side effect that comes from individual meds, and the combination of meds that I take, is that my mind is sluggish. I often feel like I’m pushing my way through quicksand when I try to think, to process. That is pretty exhausting, too.

I sleep a lot. I mean, A LOT. I used to sleep for twelve or thirteen hours at night, be up for two, then nap for four or five, and stagger through the last few hours of the day. And when I was awake, I was so foggy, so mired in the quicksand, that my “awake” hours were not really awake, in an aware and able sense of the word.

Now, I have a new med (fairly new, I’ve been taking it since the spring) that helps to banish some of the murkiness and feeling of slogging through quicksand. It doesn’t take it away, but it allows me to have at least a couple of hours a day that I can write, or go out, or do housework, or whatever. And I don’t need to sleep so much: about ten hours at night, and I usually go two or three days without needing a nap. It might not sound like much, but it’s been a huge improvement to the quality of my life.

When I first had my breakdown, I didn’t sleep at all. I rested a lot, and I did probably fall asleep for wee catnaps, but I was desperate for sleep. Psydoc finally found a combination of meds that let me sleep (forced me to sleep) on a regular basis. My sleep today is not particularly restorative, despite how much of it I do. I think that my need for ten hours of sleep to be able to function is like the “normal” person having five or six hours of sleep a night for a protracted period. They can manage, they can get through their routines, but damn, what they’d give for a good night’s sleep. For me, a “good night’s sleep”, in terms of quality and not quantity, is hard to come by.

I’ve also found that I resent having to sleep so much. Not so much at night, but I fight and rail, tooth and claw, against having to nap. Another issue for me to work on. It’s a struggle to accept, especially when I was always on the go, constantly, before my mind finally forced me to stop.

It’s hard for many people to understand that I don’t have an unlimited well of energy to draw upon. My well is rather shallow, actually, and I have to save up the energy for a lot of days to be able to spend five or six hours at someone else’s house, or at a fundraiser, or wherever. And then the well is dry, and I have to spend a number of days letting the water rise again so I can do even the basics, like have a shower or cook a nutritious meal.

Anyway, something that I found immensely helpful, not only for my loved ones, but also for myself, was something called The Spoon Theory. Christine Miserandino of is the one who created it. It is a way to explain to people who don’t have a chronic illness what life is like when you have one. It is a fantastic story, and I would really, REALLY encourage you to go here and read it. It will truly help you understand, and is better expressed than I could ever hope to do. So go. Now! Read it!