Lupus Detention House Here

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.

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.

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. lupus detention house

So, I am locked inside. The warden is my immune system. The crime? Simply existing. In a traditional detention center, you know the rules. Don't fight. Don't run. Do your time. In the Lupus Detention House, the rules change by the hour.

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. When you look healthy on the outside, but

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.

Advocate for yourself. Fire the doctors who act like cruel guards. Find your cellmates (support groups) who know the secret handshake. I have learned the power of "Spoon Theory"

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.