Guess who’s back – and she’s not taking any more bull poo.

Hello, sparklemice. My goodness, how i have missed you all terribly. But i promise, my temporary leave of absence was entirely for your sake. As some of you can relate to, i am currently in atrocious steroid withdrawal. The whole nine yards, shaking, mood swings, breakouts, pain…you get it. Had i posted during my last downswing, my blog would have consisted of a string of incoherent swear words, and maybe an occasional cheesy sad Tumblr quote.
But fear not, my loves. So much has changed since our last encounter, and this badass’ journey seems to have a turn for the sparkly-er.  As i write this i am sitting on the quad under a deliciously shady tree at my choice college, watching my group of lovely new friends play ultimate frisbee while we wait for open mic night, where i will be performing (EEK!) My secret music career dreams (PLOT TWIST,) have actually seemed to slide into the realm of possible…for the first time in a loooooong time, i have my voice back. I’m ready to write again. So while my heart is full of regret that the lupus took over for a while there, i am so ridiculously happy to be myself enough again. Which brings me to this post.

Failure. We all, sick or not, have to deal with failure. Whether it’s not landing the promotion,or letting the disease win for a little bit, or not finishing the marathon…we all fail. FAILURE…the big scary pit we are taught to delicately teeter around, looking down at those unfortunate enough to lose their balance. Well i have a secret: the goddess Athena, my current income, and failure all have something in common. They are MYTHICAL. Failure is not a real thing. Totally made up and then accepted into society as some concrete concept and ultimate reality. Which is really quite the tragedy, if you think about it. Following in the human trend, we have created a problem for ourselves where there is none.
We think that when we attempt something, and the outcome isn’t our goal, we have failed. And that’s not our fault, we were taught to believe that just like we were taught to believe we will one day die.  It’s terrifying and inevitable and a part of life.

But this past sh** show has taught me something…or rather coming out the other side of it has.

Failure isn’t a reality, it’s a perception fallacy. An attempt doesn’t end until you’ve succeeded in what you were trying to do, or realized that it wasn’t what you’re meant to be doing. What we perceive as failure is just a part of trying. It’s research on how to do better next time, or research on whether or not what you’re pursuing is right for you. There is no failure, there is only a process. But because people believe in this “failure” bullsh (my personal favorite curse word abbreviation,) they stop mid process, and then hate themselves. And it’s a tragedy. So let’s debunk the myth, yes? When i went radio silent on you for the past few months, i thought i had failed. And i was stuck in my sad little failure bubble of netflix and solitude. But then guess what happened? The tunnel ended. And as the light fell across my sweatpants and sadness- clad body, i realized that every dead end i thought i had hit during that run through the tunnel was actually just a turn. Failure isn’t real, and we don’t have time for lies up in here. Only truth or fairytales 😉

stay badass, my loves. SO glad to be reunited.

Advertisements

Fifty Shades of No Thank You (A thank-you note to my Lupus.)

I always hated the term “falling in love.” Now bear with me, dolls, this movie/book review is deeply saturated with autoimmune goodness, just wait.  I will get there.

Now I love love. I think love is awesome. This is not a jaded, angry, anti-hollywood post. This is just a problem i always had with semantics. “Falling,” never sounded like a good way to approach love. As i saw it, “falling,” is a result of tripping, and “falling in love,” just sounded like stumbling over your own insecurities and into the arms of whoever would be willing to catch you. To love should be something you choose, and “falling,” is not a choice. “Falling,” is for those who are shaky, and out of control. That is NOT how you want to enter a relationship. I was not game for the whole losing solid ground, being slammed downward in a death-spiral by gravity thing… But then i realized something. I know a lot of really brilliant, deep, independent people who are in love. They fell. They are not stupid, or insecure, or weak. But they did the whole “falling,” thing. How is it, that all of these badass individuals, who i respect so much, fell subject to the whole stumbling-tripping, falling process? Weren’t they focusing? Why did they trip?! And then it hit me.  Tripping isn’t the only thing that leads to falling…

You can also jump.

Now i know this seems like a pretty small realization, but for me, it changed my entire perception of “falling,” for someone. The people to whom I’m referring didn’t fall because they stumbled, they fell because they met someone who made them so excited about life, about their own potential, that they felt brave enough to jump for it. Jumping leads to falling, too. But falling because you jumped is the good kind of falling. It’s the kind of falling you choose.

So where am i going with this psychobabble? Very nice leah, you made up a cute analogy. 332 words later, your sparklemouse readers now have a cute little metaphor. Woohoo? Not to worry, dolls, this is where the badassing begins.

In the book “50 Shades of Grey,” we meet Anastasia Steele, a mousy, nervous, “accidentally” sexy young woman who’s supposed to be a relatable portrayal of all us normal ladies out here.  Now after a chapter of us reading about her insecurities, (her thighs are too slim, her eyes are too large, and her hair is too “tousled and messy,”…yup mhmmm that’s totally what i’m insecure about too, ana. Kindly shut your face,) we watch her meet the dazzling, famous, exciting, psychological disaster zone by the name of Christian Gray. As she falls deeply in love, (the tripping kind, not the jumping kind,) with this man, she begins to uncover his latex and leather coated past. You all know the story. I don’t have to get into specifics, but it involves whips, chains, and alot of really, really mentally unstimulating conversation (not to mention grammatical errors to make any bibliophile, or third grader, cringe.)

Grey is what today’s society deems the ultimate romantic find. He took boring, plain, tiny anastasia, and allowed her to play a supporting role in his big glamorous life. (Did we not JUST do this with twilight?) Oh yes, ladies of 2015. According to what we’ve (whether intentionally or not,) crowned as the love stories of our generation, the ideal relationship involves being swept away from your own boring life and absorbed into someone else’s cooler one. Emotional stability? Lame. Mutual respect? No thanks. All we’re told to want by society is to hitch our wagons to a super shiny star. Edward Cullen. Christian Grey. The literary studs of our time.

In real life though, we all know this is the kind of boy we need to avoid, right? RIGHT?! No girl in her right mind would ever tolerate someone so controlling, so tirelessly disrespectful, so incredibly possessive  outside the pages of her books….right? Wrong. I’ve seen this exact culture weighing in on so many of my friend’s perceptions of what they need and it’s TERRIFYING. We are blurring the lines between whats sexy and fun to read about vs. what we actually need to live happy, fulfilling lives.

Now let’s play a little scenario game, shall we?

Let’s tweak Anastasia steele, in one teennnyyy tiny way. Same big eyes, same mousy demeanor, same rockin bod that she keeps saying positive things about, while pretending they’re negative (damn my embarrassingly glowy skin!) Let’s just give her one tiny thing. Five little letters. Let’s give her lupus. If it’s more your cup of tea, we can give Bella Fibromyalgia or R.A…whichever. Imagine her telling Christian Grey, in her husky voice, that she has an autoimmune disease. SCREEECCHHHH. Hear that? that was her whirlwind romance screeching to a reality-induced halt. Do we think his reaction would be the supportive, loving reaction a good badass needs to thrive? Do we think he’d care about smith numbers and SED rates and white blood counts? Do we think he’d remember which kind of organic strawberries she likes for her smoothies, or what time she wakes up for yoga, or what day she takes her methotrexate and can’t move? No. He would not. Because boys like Christian and Edward are really fun TO PLAY PRETEND WITH. But when it comes to real life, they are paper. Flimsy and one- dimensional. That’s why they only thrive IN BOOKS. REAL GIRLS NEED REAL BOYS. Because, brace yourself, ready for the kicker? At the end of the day we’re ALL going to be focusing on things like that, autoimmune problems or not. Not just the sickies. Doctors appointments and scans and groceries and health are what MAKE UP LIFE. These are problems we’re all going to have to deal with, the only difference being those of us pushed out of our fairytale youth a bit early (by disease,)  have to deal with them NOW. But most people aren’t thinking about REAL things like that when hitching their wagon. Oh no. Most people think about what the books tell them they need to love. This is why I AM SO THANKFUL FOR MY LUPUS.

what did she just say? What. Did. That. Crazy. Ass. Blogger. Just. Say. THANKFUL?! Thankful for this craptastic disease that makes you think about your mortality? This disorder that forces you to grow up way before you should have to?
You heard me right dolls. I am thankful every, single day. Here is why.

The first time post diagnoses i was into a guy, i had no idea when i should tell him. Should i tell him? Do people want to date the sick girl? Is he gonna panic when I’m at doctors for problems he’s never even considered? Am i going to be a burden? Am i too much? Pleaaase don’t let this make him run for the hills.  And then it hit me. There’s only one way to find out. You drop the bomb. You just say it. “Oh, by the way, i have an autoimmune disease called Lupus.” What you can see in that minute, in that flash in their eyes, will tell you so, so much about this boy’s life skills. You heard it here first ladies and gents, lupus is a TOP NOTCH filter for the dating pool. Because the people who will want to be with you, bloodtests and all, are the same kind of people who will wake up to take care of your screaming baby in the middle of the night. They’re the same kind of people who remember to take out the garbage, and Tivo the Oscars for you, and call you beautiful even when you have puffy lupus face. They are the gems that 18 year old you overlooked, and 30 year old you will fantasize about. These are the anti- Cullen/Grays. These are not paper boys. These are the REAL ones. And you have a secret weapon to finding them.

Speaking from personal experience, having my disease has stopped me from hitching my wagon to “stars” that i am now SO THANKFUL I AM NOT STUCK WITH. I’m not waiting around for someone to take me into a big leather room of pain (that actually sounds like a nightmare,) or take me away into a life of eternal, immortal, vampire bliss (also, kind of a nightmare.) Nope. Lupus has taught me, with it’s bitchy, honest voice, to wait for other things. For patience, and kindness, and depth. For compassion, and emotional strength, and psychological stability. For respect, and love, and someone who is willing to SACRIFICE for the person he loves. Someone who understands that Methotrexate day REQUIRES that grey’s anatomy be recorded and the freezer be stocked of Gluten Free ice cream. Someone truly badass.

And for that, Lupus, i am forever in your debt.

But not for the hair loss. I am not in your debt for that, you jerk.

Stay badass,

Leah