Fatigue

by Jennifer Acker

Fatigue, I learned, is not the absence of energy, just as sadness is not the absence of happiness. Fatigue is a force unto itself; it sucks you dry like a dentist’s tool and punches you in the solar plexus. You lack reserves. You feel raw, unpeeled. Small barbs wound deeply; the self-pity adds up. The suffering of both loved ones and complete strangers strikes so much more deeply than before. But crying gives you a headache, so you try to avoid it. Sometimes you can’t try hard enough and your voice cracks and you go to a dark, speechless place. Despite all this, or perhaps because of it, I still wanted to be a part of things: not only to keep up with friends and take a walk on beautiful days but also to use my mind: to edit the magazine, to plan literary events with my colleagues. To make the hours and minutes pass by being focused, or doing something useful. To feel alive rather than caught in a downward spiral.

Convalescing forces limits, and therefore taught me to be less driven by fear of failure, in my own eyes and those of others.