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.
You learn to walk on eggshells in a house made of landmines. The cruelest part of this detention isn't the joint pain or the "brain fog" that makes me forget my own zip code. It’s the solitary confinement. 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 didn't commit a crime
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. You learn to walk on eggshells in a house made of landmines