Most days I have a real love hate relationship with diabetes. Sometimes I feel proud of myself for giving it my best and coming out of the day unscathed by all of it. And other days I am left feeling down, depressed, and overall wishing I could break up with this disease. It is ugly inside and out. It is soul sucking and even when things are going seemingly well, they really aren’t.
There is always something happening behind the scenes.
I recently went through another episode of diabetes burnout. Not deliberately but I also did nothing to stop myself either. I allowed myself to feel every bit of sadness, every ounce of hatred, every piece of despair that this disease fed me. I was completely done. I ignored the beeps and alarms, and though I still gave myself insulin it was hardly accurate. It was too much and too little at all the wrong times. Not healthy, and I can admit that. Not healthy and extremely dangerous.
My intentions were not to harm myself, but I was trying everything I could to forget that diabetes existed in my life. I was trying everything I could to feel normal again, just for one second. An endocrinology appointment was around the corner and I knew it was going to be bad. I was prepared for it and not prepared for it all at the same time.
I tried to convince myself that it was not a big deal. I gathered every excuse in the book so that I could convince her that I was doing what I was supposed to do. I needed to put up a façade that I was indeed trying when in all honesty, I was not. I was determined to go in there and let it be routine and full of lies, but one thing left me feeling uneasy…what would the test results say? With every floral word that I could muster it would never be able to change the cold hard truth. I was not doing as I should and she would see that plain as day.
So instead of wasting her time as well as mine I went in with honesty on my lips. I went in there and told her the truth. I poured out my heart and my soul to her. I cried a little, I shared my deepest thoughts like she were a therapist. When all was said and done I thought she would dismiss me, scold me, make me feel like every thing I had already been feeling about myself were true…instead, she listened. She mourned with me the loss of freedom I once had when it came to daily life, and she gave me true and honest feedback.
She made me feel as though I were safe. She assured me that we all go through these moments but what we get out of them and how we grow from them is what matters. After leaving her office I felt a tinge of awkwardness and a spark of utter shame. Then I went home and began my journey again. The journey of bettering myself, of taking control of this disease the best way I can, and reminding myself that to give up is defeat and I can not be defeated. These past few weeks have been heavy but good. I have been kind to myself. I have taken the reigns back and hope that this time around I can stay on top of it all without jeopardizing my sanity.
Because nothing can take me down unless I allow it.