Apr. 6th, 2017

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My brain decided to wrap three of its favorite nightmare themes into one dream last night. My mother, my stepdad, AND dead cats. And as I sat outside for my first morning cigarette, trying to shake away the tears and nausea, I realized something.

That was harder.

It took two years to get away from them and another 20 years to get over them. I was so young. I was only 15 at the start of it. I had no idea what I was doing, only knew the desperation of having to get away from them.

And I eventually did just that. Did it at an incredibly young age, fighting them, calling a million agencies trying to raise the red flags, joining the courts against the only parents I had truly known at that age. I did all that.

I cannot run away from lupus. There are no red flags to be waived, no armies of social workers I can raise and stand with. Lupus is buried deep within my DNA. There is no hope of separating my body from this disease.

But getting away from them...that was harder. Healing from them....that was harder. It, however, gave me a roadmap. Faded, dusty from lack of use as it is, I know the path to freedom.

And I've decided to use it. Though it may take another two years of desperate struggle to remove myself from this immediate crisis, and another twenty years to accept this crisis, I will do it.

I will be angry. I will be overcome with sorrow. I will lose entire days, weeks, months to the fight, just as I did 22 years ago. But goddamnit, it was a fight well worth it.

So this will be as well.

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