In the middle of the night

Sometimes, it's hard to see the stars.

It's 2:00 am, Denver time, you guys and I should not be up but here I am. I'm pacing. I'm puking. I'm in extreme pain and I'm sick of this crap. I wish Lupus, Rheumatoid and my dysfunctional, damaged body would just knock it off. Seriously. And yes, I know. Be positive for positive results, yes? It's true. And I usually am. But the fact remains. This shit hurts like holy hell sometimes and you know what?

I think it's OK to say so. Not only that, I think it's OK for me to let people know when I'm suffering. It's not about making myself miserable. It's not about driving people crazy. I'm not bragging about my “special” diseases or making excuses.

It's about letting people know that I'm no longer someone they can depend on for help at a moment's notice so they can plan accordingly. It's about other people knowing why I'm quiet, sleeping so much, not thinking straight or can't take care of my responsibilities properly so they don't think I'm just some kind of lazy idiot.

And yes, I am fighting the good fight. I'm keeping a smile on my face whenever humanly possible. There is a song in my heart. I am determined to do my level best to live the most normal life I can and not cause anyone to suffer along with me.

But there's a battle raging inside me and it's trying to kill me. It's indescribably painful. It's horribly inconvenient and it's downright scary. And sometimes that other fight wins out over my perky little smile. And you know what? I refuse to feel guilty about that because it's not my fault.

I didn't ask to be sick. I'm not reveling in it. I'm just trying to deal with it the best I can. And I'm only human. So, some days, people will just have to forgive me if the knowledge that my life span is likely going to be considerably shorter than anyone elses makes me a little cranky. My imminent death is a reality I face daily. So, some days, it's pretty tough to smile.

People will have to understand that I'm going to complain when the pain gets so bad I can no longer pretend to be happy.

Life isn't a social media post, you guys. It's not inherently politically and socially correct, nor should it be. And some days, I just feel like screaming. And I will. Most days, I do what I have to do, despite the fact that every muscle in my body is having it's very own scream-fest. I don't say anything. I suck it up. I swallow the jagged pill and life goes on.

But I refuse to apologize for the days when my illness is so bad that I can no longer project positivity, be an inspiration or just plain function like a “normal” person. It hurts, you guys. It hurts so much that I can't even explain it and it's scary knowing that I could go to sleep and not wake up. Because that's the reality of chronic illness.

So please, just love me. Just try to understand that although certainly I want to be a cheerful inspiration, I'm really, really sick. And pardon my language, but sometimes I'm going to be a downright bitch, because this illness and trying to be normal is just too much for me. I'm not some kind of saint. I'm just a normal, average person trying to deal with several abnormal illnesses at once.

So, if I'm rude or distant, whiny or screechy, please understand that it's not about you, it really is about me and I'm happy about that. Because I would never in a million years wish this crap on anyone else.