Survivor Blogger: Untilted

I haven’t written in awhile because I haven’t had much too say. I have but my journal and my therapist have been the resting place for those words. They have absorbed those very profuse feelings, and lush they were.

What I can say is I have learned. Funny things, important things, things about myself, others, life, and love.

Setbacks aren’t my kind of thing, not sure if you can pick up that vibe from the last posts but shit getting thrown off just isn’t for me.

Over the past week I somehow ended up with bronchitis. Now the already strangled words are wracked with coughing fits that send my muscles into spasms. I have been trying not to talk during the day if I can avoid it and laughing is just a wheezing mess. Sounds fun, I suppose, but that was honestly just day the last damn straw for me. After I ended up in Urgent Care and a chest x ray later, I was sent home with more medicine (as if this is something I need) and a best of luck. The coughing, the fever, the pain – plus the fibromyalgia and lupus exacerbation was almost too much to handle. I begged. I pleaded.

Then I learned to be sick.

I had very little drive, that much I can tell you. I have put little to no effort into anything I have done because to be honest, that’s all I have had. I feel close to empty, although I am, and have always been, surrounded by love and support. I have seen people’s true colors, and accepted them. That is as emotionally exhausting as it sounds, but also very necessary to heal.

In order to heal myself, I have to move on from others. Sounds like spiritual mumbo jumbo but the truth is, it’s all about being selfish.

I am not happy with the way I look – this time the medicine has wreaked havoc on my physical appearance. My face and neck still swollen, my gums hurt, my stomach is distended. I don’t look or feel like myself, and what this does is add to the depression. Which I can honestly say, had gotten better until I caught bronchitis. Then it all fell apart again.

I have learned that I don’t always have to hold it together, and that just the effort of trying is stressful. Sometimes, a person like me has to cry. I cry when I am happy, I am emotional, empathetic, and proud of that part of my personalty. I am also tough as nails, and unfuckwitable, even when I am writhing in pain begging for mercy. I have more strength in my little finger than most know.

It is ok to be scared. We are always supposed to have it put together, to be fearless. Listen, I am scared, and that is ok. I have a disease that has no cure, that attacked my kidneys until the point of almost renal failure. For the first time in five years I was rushed into treatment, I was fragile, and weak and broken – no matter how strong people wished to say I was – I was not. I was biopsied, poked, prodded, needled – and I am still scared to death. Even through it all. I know in my heart now, that until there is a cure for Lupus, I won’t ever not be scared.

I have learned that one day that fear will turn to acceptance, I can honestly say I am not there yet. I might to ever be, if we are being honest, but that’s where I should end up eventually. I do hope that comes sooner than I really expect it to – because unfortunately I fight too hard to back down – and that might what acceptance takes to arrive.

The acceptance of living a life where a cure isn’t found.

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