By Sally Doherty in METRO.
I wake late, drag myself out from under my duvet and stumble to the kitchen. It would be a relief to have breakfast in bed but my husband works full time. He’s left me a bowl and a spoon on the side, and a sandwich awaits me in the fridge for lunch. I eat in silence and then shuffle back to my bedroom on the ground floor. Hungover? I wish. This is not a one off; this is how I have felt every morning for the past 13 years. I suffer from myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME), also known as chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS).
That’s a fake illness, right? The one where people are just being lazy and they need to think positively, get off their backsides and do some exercise, yes? Some 250,000 people in the UK (plus their carers, families and friends) would tell you otherwise. And I’m one of them. I used to be like you; healthy and happy with a full life of work, socialising and exercise. I never dreamt that one day I wouldn’t be able to get over my doorstep.
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