When my chronic fatigue is at its worst, I am rendered bedbound. It feels like being trapped beneath a current, unable to move, ceasing to exist. The invisibility of this condition wears me down, and I wanted to make a photograph that conveyed what most people never see: the depths of a fatigue crash.

The cruel irony is that the physical act of creating such a photograph would surely put me in the very state of incapacity that it aims to depict. Post-exertional malaise is one of the main symptoms of this condition, and I have struggled immensely to come to terms with it. It feels like a prophecy in an ancient play; an absurd predication that can surely be avoided once it is known. But no amount of time, rest, medicine, or willpower will change the outcome, and your immobile body will give you no choice but to concede.

This picture marks a quiet shift towards acceptance. Creating it would indeed invoke the cycle of malaise, but it was a sacrifice made knowingly. I have all but disappeared from my own life, so it was worth it to somehow take up a bit of space in the world again, and I feel like I have reclaimed a small part of myself in doing so.