"Je suis fatiguee"is one of the first sentences I learned in Francais Dix back in university, some time after listening to
"Silvie! Silvie!"
"Bon jour Valerie!"
"Comment ca va? Tu habite le cartier?"
"Oui, Rue Mouffetard, au dix."
"Je connais!"
Anyway.
I've been feeling really, really tired these days, with accompanying bodily pains, even if I haven't been doing much. Reading tires me out. Just sitting around and watching the new Narda transform into a foil-bikini-clad Darna tires me out.
The fatigue has nothing to do with my physical activity actually. I'd feel spent whether I stayed in bed all day or I stayed in bed all day in the other sense.
In fairness, sexy ni Marian...
These days I'd wake up late but stay in for at least another hour anyway, then I'd return to bed for a nap at least twice later on. If a bed is not available, I'd pick the nearest most comfortable spot, like the inside of a car or a lobby couch. Sometimes any out-of-the-way corner would suffice.
When you feel this exhausted, agitated and anxious, you wouldn't care about poise or propriety.
The fatigue was a cause of much loathing pre-diagnosis - both from myself and those around me. In childhood and those awkward teen years, there were seasons when I was often chided (er, berated, lambasted, harangued) by parents and teachers for being lazy.
I'm sure we've all had this experience:
Fat Math Teacher: [Garbled message in an alien language]
Me: zzz . . .
Fat Math Teacher: [Garbled message in an alien language] ... Miss Martinez!
Me: I'm . . . sorry . . . I did nat hear da . . . question . . .
Fat Math Teacher: [Asks question in said alien language]
Me: . . . ?
Fat Math Teacher: [Hurls insults which would have been the equivalent of the whole class throwing rotten tomatoes my way]
But lemme just say I still manage to ace the exam the day after. Yeah, me.
SFX: Cymbal crash.
Here's another common occurence:
Guidance counselor: You know, you're a smart kid. You're just lazy. You just need a little [motivation / discipline / inpiration / experience / more fun in your life / whatever it was]
Me: Thank you [Thinks, " G*** ka rin, 'no?"]
Guidance counselor: You remind me of myself when i was young ... [Followed by supposedly inspiring anecdote]
Me: [Sneers]
Guidance counselor: You can do it! [Insert pep talk here]
Me: Thank you [Thinks, "Oh go to hell!"]
The difference between myself and other people who have had similar experiences as a student is that their problem is solvable by an attitude adjustment. Mine couldn't. Believe me, I've adjusted. And adjusted. Of course i now realize I needed neither the pep talk not the public humiliation to make me repent of my slothfulness. What i needed after all were the happy yellow pills.
By the time the Guidance Counselor got to me with the pep talk, I didn't care about grades anymore. They weren't as high as I wanted to be, but they were at least as high as I needed them to be. When you feel depressed and exhausted, you learn to settle for maintenance mode and hope you find a burst of energy later on to make up for the lost time.
Of course in between those fatigued periods, I can boast of highly productive, creative, energetic bursts in which I could be mistaken for a genius.
Fan 1: Wow, ang galing mo! Paano mo naisip / nagawa / natapos yan?
Fan 2: You're so brilliant!
Fan 3: Genius talaga ang batang ito...
But before and after that ...
Parent: [Orders ramdom task] ... What's taking you so long?
Me: [Slowly picks up aching, fatugued limbs]
Parent: Get up off of there, you good-for-nothing sloth!
Me: . . . I'm just feeling really tired . . .
Parent: You mean lazy! You lazy, lazy slob! Why the heck are you moving so slow? ! You are lazy and useless. You Go hang. Lazy.
I accepted laziness as a justification for average-grades-despite-genius-high-IQ and began to parrot other people's ideas about me. Try as I might to de-lazify myself, it seemed as if i worked harder for no reason. My energy was always low and performance poor during those periods.
But this is funny, circa 1994:
Well-meaning High School Classmate: Do you paint?
Me: Not really. I don't have paints right now [Thinks: "Do you have a commission for me? I can use the money"] Why?
Well-meaning High School Classmate: I figured that you're an artist, right? And that artists use these paints and thinners that have fumes, and thought maybe they were going to your head or something, that's why you're so dazed all the time.
Thanks, ha. Ha.
College Schoolmate, c. 1998: Even when I didn't know you, I'd see you around and was sure you came to classes laced. You'd have glazed eyes and be all groggy, but you think real sharp and sound real deep. And you're often sleeping in some corner like [Stoner Classmate 1] and [Stoner Classmate 2]
I wanted to be more than an above average student - and I often times was. I had a satisfactory work ethic, a fantastic motivation (which is, to rule the world), an organizer and a schedule. I just had a problem with being faithful to all of that. It wasn't because I was lazy or slothlike or a stoner (but otherwise drugged, yes) or any other insult. The truth is I run low on temporal resources every now and then. Just honest-to-goodness tired, and anxious and agitated besides. I've often felt myself spread too thin, feeling overly busy if even if I really ain't, freak of nature that I am.
Prof: Magaling ka sana blah blah blah you deserve a higher grade blah blah. Ano ba problema?
Me: [Thinks: Yun naman pala eh. Then just cut the crap and give me the higher grade that I deserve]. I just have these headaches often [Translated: you give too much work], and my eyes hurt constantly. I think I need glasses. [Translated: I'm not interested in your class]
Prof: Patingin mo na yang mata mo.
Me: Pinatingin ko na, may sira daw konti. But too low for glasses. Pwede ko pa daw daanin sa vitamins. [Translated: Kelangan ko ng drugs. Alam ko meron ka. Penge.]
Prof: O sige, daanin mo na lang sa vitamins [Translated: I'm not really interested in your plight but I pretend to be so you will give me a positive evaluation so that i can apply for the Department Head position]
My disciplines and overall life outlook improved as an adult (with much thanks to the academic freedom of University life in which no one gave a fig about how you did your business as long as you get your work done well; there were no confidence-maiming insult barrages and this allowed me to regenerate), but my problem has never been in my habits or my character, but in my psyche. At work, I was often caught slumped in awkward positions in front of the keyboard. This merited a lot of accusation and criticism of course, which compounded the anx/agit factors and really didn't help to improve my performance. This, by the way, was easily mistaken for poor performance or an attitude problem or selective preference depending on mood, even if other evidence proved otherwise.
I've always supposed that having an official diagnosis and taking the meds from a young age would have curbed the symptoms and given me a happier, fuller life. But now I see that the episodes don't really go away; the symptoms are merely muffled. I know it should have been worse without the meds, but I also know I still feel awfully tired with or without the meds.
I'm supposed to wind this entry up now, but I'm too pooped to think of something witty.
