When they tell you to prepare your family for your death it’s difficult to wrap your head around what you were just told. How do you process that? How are you supposed to tell them? Do you tell your kids? Everyone already knew I wasn’t in a healthy state, but fuck. I was wasting away in front of their eyes daily. Rail thin. A walking zombie, trying to be full of life, always in a constant state of pain. In and out of the doctors, it seemed like it was weekly, between the several doctors I was seeing, the lab work…I still have the marks from all the needles they stuck in my arms.

Even as a stubborn black hearted bitch I started living in a different way. I lived free. I lived like it was always my last day. I made sure to laugh every day. To make everyone smile every day. To be the sunshine and sparkles in everyone’s life that I was apart of. I learned to love myself, my life, to be happy with what I had, to appreciate every day.

I started taking more pictures of everything. My kids, my family, the world through my eyes; I wanted to leave behind memories from my perspective for my children. I took more selfies for them. People probably thought I was a self-absorbed bitch, but I didn’t care, they didn’t know my story and they weren’t going too until I was ready to tell it.

My clothes were so baggy on me, but why spend the money to buy more? I just started wearing leggings more. If I wore jean’s they looked gross on me. I tried to eat more protein to gain weight, but it didn’t matter. I could eat whatever I wanted and I just kept losing more weight, it was horrible. It got so bad I was lucky if I weighed 100 pounds soaking wet. I knew everyone around me was worried, hell I was worried, but I couldn’t show it. I had to just keep smiling, keep living.

There would be days where I would cry all day at my desk. Some of the deputies would message me asking if I was okay, they could hear the pain, the tears in my voice. I just passed it off as a migraine. I didn’t want people feeling sorry for me. I didn’t need them to know, didn’t want them to know the truth. I just kept hiding.

When I finally had an answer, it was relief. I could breathe again. Or so I thought. One autoimmune disease means there’s another. My life has changed. But that doesn’t mean I am not the same damn sunshine and sparkly unicorn poop bitch everyone has grown to love. I am still here. I just have illnesses that unfortunately rule some of my days. I just try not to let them wear the crown every day, just some days.

Lately, they have been winning, but fuck them. They need to chill the fuck out.

Sunshine, sparkles, and mother fucking unicorn poop!!

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