Lupus Detention House | |best|

Living in the Lupus Detention House has taught me a brutal kind of grace. I have stopped fighting for the parole of "being cured." Instead, I fight for commutation —the reduction of a sentence.

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.

You learn to walk on eggshells in a house made of landmines. The cruelest part of this detention isn't the joint pain or the "brain fog" that makes me forget my own zip code. It’s the solitary confinement. lupus detention house

But you can change the nature of the sentence. Over the years, I have learned that while I cannot unlock the cell door, I can paint the walls.

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. Living in the Lupus Detention House has taught

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. I have learned that "no" is a complete

I am grateful for the guards. But I do not trust them. You might be wondering: Why stay? Why not escape?