We didn't commit a crime. We didn't choose this holding cell. But as long as we are stuck here, we might as well be the loudest, most obnoxious inmates on the block.
I have learned the power of "Spoon Theory" to explain my daily energy ration. I have learned that "no" is a complete sentence when the warden demands too much. I have learned to find a strange, defiant peace in the quiet days.
We are serving a life sentence. But we are not dead yet. And as long as my heart is still beating—even if it is beating out of rhythm due to lupus myocarditis—I will be scratching tally marks on the wall. lupus detention house
I fight for one good hour. One pain-free meal. One laugh that doesn't hurt my ribs. If you are reading this and you recognize these walls, I see you. I see you dragging your heating pad like a security blanket. I see you tracking your rashes and your fevers like a lawyer tracking evidence.
By [Your Name]
When you look healthy on the outside, but your kidneys are staging a revolt on the inside, people don't see a prisoner. They see someone who "doesn't look sick." They see a lazy person who cancels plans. They see a flake.
One more day survived is one more day the warden didn't win. Disclaimer: This blog post is based on personal metaphor and experience. Lupus affects everyone differently. If you are struggling with a chronic illness, please consult your rheumatologist or a mental health professional. We didn't commit a crime
I am grateful for the guards. But I do not trust them. You might be wondering: Why stay? Why not escape?