Chronic fatigue syndrome is a state of profound fatigue that is not improved by bed rest and that may get worse with physical or mental activity. This fatigue significantly interferes with daily activities and work.
I have that syndrome.
My name is...
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(The pajamas that Will wears 😕)^
I am absolutely astonished at how many views this book has gotten, seemingly overnight. It's quite overwhelming, since I haven't even finished it yet. I hope that you guys enjoy this chapter and thanks, once again, for the votes, views and comments 💛
[...]
Will's POV
"Wake up plea-mum made some coo-I think that- Spencer and I we-I really miss yo-"
My ears recognise the sound of my sister, her voice full of forged enthusiasm, but my mind refuses to focus. Her sentences are jolted; out of place, rarely finished before my attention deteriorates.
It's been like this for weeks.
Everyday, they talk to me but I can't hear them properly- the sound is a gurgled mess.
Sometimes my arm aches, as well as my left eye, but sometimes it doesn't. It feels so unbearably numb that I wish for the feeling of pain. Of course, when the pain arrives, I long for numbness again.
It's a viscous cycle; loosing my hearing for hours on end and retrieving it for just a few moments.
I feel the soft, silky material of pajamas strapped to my body; it's suffocating. It's like I've gone back to the beginning, like nothing has changed over these excruciating months. Once upon a time I found them comforting, I had a routine; a strict order that I devoted my pitiful life to.
Then...it all changed. Freddie saved me from the boring cycle. I remember his joyous words- his confessions of devotion; his unrestrained loyalty.
His voice sings to me every day, it's sounds so familiar yet strange at the same time. The rough timber of the song ricocheting through me like fierce bolts of lightning.
But, it's getting better. I'm able to hear longer conversations now, beautiful confessions and heartbreaking pleas. Mum, dad, Megan, Freddie. All of them.
At times, I long to wrap my weak arms around them; to tell them that I love them...but I can't. I'm trapped- paralysed by my own fatigue. I remember feeling this way when CFS first struck me but this time I can't even communicate my pain.
"-Shard stu-directly through his cornea- nothing we could d-fully blind- left eye"
It's a different voice now, slightly accented by a rich tone. A doctor?
But what does he mean?
Blind? The word is so harsh, so bitter.
Left eye. Said eye blares up in discomfort once again, and dreaded realisation strikes me.
I'm the one that's blind in one eye.
I want to grieve, tears pushing at the creases of my eyes- but my body refuses to let the liquid fall. Stiffness gnaws at my muscles and bones; I'm stuck in this position forevermore.
