My Friends In “The Box”
My friends are in a box. Yep, you read that right….a box. There are hundreds of them…neatly packaged in an easy to access square.
These people don’t mind when I cancel plans I had with them because I couldn’t keep my eyes open. They don’t lift an eyebrow when I mummify myself with a pain patch stuck to every visible part of my body, making me look like I could be the main exhibit in an archeological dig. They are the only ones who have felt the frustration when, yet again, I pull out a handful of hair big enough to craft my own toupee, by just running my fingers through it. But most importantly, they are the ones who would never, ever, under any circumstances, say the phrase that makes me cringe and shoot fire from my eye sockets….but you don’t look sick.
I was diagnosed with Lupus over 10 years ago. In those 10 years I have learned the tricks of the trade: smile often, speak vaguely and cry alone. Eventually, I got so good at living the tricks that I adapted them as part of my personality. I didn’t look the part, obviously, so why even bother trying to explain it to anyone? I’ve seen the looks….trust me, I’ve seen all of them….the way they narrow their eyes and shake their head as I bow out of activities early, or leave the party before it even gets started. I’ve lost more friends than I care to remember because of my illness, and eventually it got so common place that somewhere along the way I stopped caring.
Until I discovered the people “in the box”.
I can’t tell you how many times I have gotten laughed at, heard the snickers behind my back or sat emotionless as my support system was written off as (and I quote) “just a bunch of stalkers”. I saw them try to cover their condescending smirk with the back of their hand as I had no good answer to their questions of: what does she look like, where does she live, what’s her last name? I don’t know those things. I will never be able to pick them out in a crowded room. But I can tell you that Catherine’s RA tends to flare when the temperature changes, and that Marie is a financial genius but like myself, has the gracefulness of a hippo in a china shop. I know of Carly’s terrifying fight with her disease for her very life and I know that Ailsa’s weekly dose of methotrexate does her in for a couple of days. I know these things, yet I have never met most of these amazing ladies.
Know why? Cause they’re all “in the box”.
These people exist. They make me laugh, they make me cry and they know just what to say when I don’t. We are an online community, and while the stigma of “cyber friends” has softened and become more acceptable in the past few years, there are still those who refuse to see online friends as being “real”. I can try to explain to my long time friend sitting in my house, that the aches in my muscles are intolerable to the point of gnawing my own arm off….but she’ll never know. My Spoonie family knows…they’ve been there, the pain is real to them and they know sometimes there’s just nothing to say to make it better. That kind of inspiration isn’t found in the local playgroup or with friends at a dinner party. There are days when I feel lost. I cry myself silly and I take a complete nose dive from the podium well meaning loved ones have put me on. Sometimes I can easily pull myself out of it, dust myself off and steal spoons from neighbors like a flatware kleptomaniac. However, other times I throw a pity party for one, and upon being asked “what’s wrong”, I will give a laundry list of alphabetized ailments. This tends to be one of those “watch what you ask for, you just may get it” moments where I describe details from the explosion of mouth ulcers that make it look like I’ve been sucking on battery acid for a few days, to the fun game I played the night before of “how many forms of Crisco will it take to remove my rings?”
We are Spoonies. We’re international. Sometimes we’re bald and sometimes we walk with a cane. Sometimes we cry for days and others we can’t stop laughing. As has been said before, we are members of a secret society of the sick, the price for membership is higher than any healthy person could ever imagine and once you’re in…you’re in for life.
My friends live in a box. You can call it a computer. I call it a lifeline.
Article written by staff writer, Stephanie Kennedy.
About Stephanie: I live in Fayetteville, NC with my husband and 3 always hyperactive and occasionally adorable children. I was diagnosed with SLE in 2001 at the age of 27 and in the time since, have added Scleroderma, Hashimoto’s and Celiac disease. In my day-to-day life I am a Community Relations Specialist (aka, marketing and creative hodgepodge facilitator) and part-time fitness instructor. For the past two years I have served on the Executive Steering Committee for the LFA’s Fayetteville Walk For Lupus Now event.-
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