Living with Lupus and POTS
Lover of Language, Cats, Tea, and Rainy Days.
"Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky." "It's an omen," I recited, crouched by Mark's grave. He could hear me better when I crouched over, whispering with my hands cupped by my mouth like a child telling a secret. I didn't want my voice to be carried away by the wind.
Chronic Illness Killed My Self-Confidence
There's a common line I encounter in therapy: "comparison is the killer of joy." Five years ago, if I was handed such a line, I know I would have nodded thoughtfully and deleted Instagram from my phone for a couple of hours. How profound a lesson. How quick a fix.
With a notecard and a roll of packing tape in hand, I marched my way up to the mailbox. "Cameron is dead," read my message in stark red Sharpie, which I now realize looked a bit garish. However, in the weight of the moment, I was too proud, too dedicated to my mission to retreat and revise. I was not going to stop, even for a second, until my message was fastened to the inside of the mailbox. Unmissable to the postman's eye.