It feels like it anyway.
Today I've been pretty much as much a puppet with cut strings or a zombie as I've managed in the last eighteen months, but without doing anything in the way of excessive physical activity, though getting up, getting washed and dressed and having breakfast did take place as an event: in three distinct stages with intermissions.
No, the new discovery today was that the invisible vampire that sucks all the life out of me whenever I take physical activity beyond its (miserly) daily ration has a cousin.
And that my (miserly) daily ration of available energy has to cover the powering, processing and coping with emotions, too. Good and bad.
Lest this new relative lay me flat out for days with the life sucked out of me.
I'm not usually an emotional chap, and I wasn't desperately so today.
But I had my cleaner starting, and was therefore a bit "on edge" there: people with Asperger's aren't on the whole good with change, or with letting people into their private space.
I can do it, but I knew from my pre-CFS days that it does take a bit of an effort on my part: I can't be totally relaxed about it, and I hadn't made the important connection between that and CFS.
And then came the phone call: the copy of consultant's report that I sent to the DWP has been accepted as enough evidence, so that I won't be hassled over benefits, or made to do any paperwork or interviews for a whole year. Very good news, if I don't reflect too much on how the consultant described my state of health.
That's when my body really started shutting down and refusing to take orders.
Held tension eats up energy.
Stress and anxiety eats up energy.
Released tension and positive emotion uses up energy too.
Something else to think about now when budgeting from my ration book. "Can I afford to get excited about this?"
Good job I'm not prone to great highs or lows, then.
I shall continue quietly to enjoy my trains.
After all, finding bits of fun is a resource not to be despised, lurking vampires or no.