3 Libras

I'm up rather late for me, because my joints are fucking killing me tonight. While this isn't a new thing, it is something that doesn't fuck up my sleep schedule on a regular basis.

Oh, yeah. By the way, I have lupus.

A couple years ago, I was diagnosed after being hospitalized a few times for spontaneous kidney infections (it seems lupus loves to try to fuck with your organs, especially your kidneys). Autoimmune disorders are far more likely when the person has someone in their immediate family that also has an autoimmune disorder (my grandmother). The majority of people with lupus (actually, 90% of people that have been diagnosed) are women. Most of them develop symptoms of the illness between the ages of 15 to 44. Between that, my ANA test, my rare but noticeable butterfly rash (a reddening across the nose and cheeks, in the shape of a butterfly), my joint pain, my occasional fatigue, and my numerous, hospitalizing kidney infections that seemed to come out of nowhere, I was diagnosed. 

It's interesting to watch people react to my explaining to them that I have an autoimmune disease. Some people are overly sympathetic. Some people come off as really uncomfortable about the whole thing. Some people decide to quote Dr. House and tell me it's never lupus (which makes me want to give them the worst of all of my symptoms, if only for an hour, so they'll never say something so terribly insensitive to anyone with any disorder ever again). Some people read me well, realize that it's just something I live with and am okay with, and smile and continue whatever conversation we were having that led us to that topic (those people are my favorites). 

I rarely talk about being in pain, or feeling fucking exhausted, or being frustrated because I can't paint or play guitar due to my joints trying to kill me, or my worries about encountering anyone with any kind of communicable sickness (that I will inevitably get, and be stuck with for weeks), or my embarrassment that forces me to hide out in my house when my face gets that ridiculous butterfly rash and I really don't feel up for explaining to people why it looks like I'm blistery and perpetually blushing. 

I loathe feeling like people feel sorry for me. And what I hate even more is coming off as a weak, pity-seeking woman. 

Don't get me wrong. I'm sure there are very few people in this world that truly enjoy being viewed as weak people. But my aversion to being viewed that way is huge. 

So there you have it. My forced inability to sleep gave me time to write something down. Thank christ that it's only my hips and elbows that are acting up tonight. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to type worth a damn. 

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-L