When it comes on, it takes over your body like a demon possessed. There is no stopping it or sleeping it away. It enters your body, your bones, your muscles at will. It leaves only when it has had its fill.
Like a zombie, you move through the day stumbling, staggering and teetering. You lurch, you wobble, you reel. You lack your once finely tuned agility. Nimble dexterity, a thing of the past.
Fatigue invades your soul and assaults your very being. It takes your dignity, your pride and your passion. The world is dull and dark, as the weight of your own body crushes your spirit and your hope.
Your mind is muddy, dank, depressed and thick. Thoughts come at a snail’s pace and are vague, indistinct and confused. Your brain is full of cobwebs and dust. Your flesh feels like fuzzy unbrushed morning teeth, after a night sleeping with your mouth open.
It is the most unpleasant of out of body experiences as you feel the core of who you are slipping into the most cavernous abyss and a heaviness too big to fight covers you in a doomed sort of melancholy.
Fatigue ravenously snacks on your vitality and the more energy it takes, the stronger it seems to get, growing like that creature from the movie The Blob. It expands and widens as it barrels through your body, unstoppable in its determination to destroy your life and dreams.
It replaces your motivation with profound apathy and emptiness. When it is finished with you, it leaves you resembling a wet noodle, soft and flaccid after being soaked in water too long. After shaking you within an inch of your life, it throws you on the ground, damp and gnarled. You feel shredded and somehow forever shattered in its wake.
It is cruel. It is indifferent. It is savage. It is viciously diabolical in its desire to upend your life. It is ruthless. It is spiteful. It is fiendish. It is singleminded in its mission to demolish your once vibrant world and obliterate your enthusiasm for adventure.
Fatigue is a beast.
Fatigue is an ogre
Fatigue is a monster.