Every once and awhile you get me down. Like when my mom says, “I feel guilty when I hear those shots click and they are keeping you alive, and there is nothing I can do to make it better.” When I think of the numbers: 9 shots on an easy day, 14 on a bad day, 12-14 tests a day, almost 11 years as my sidekick, 10.5 that embarrassing A1c that won’t budge, my weight thanks to the shit load of insulin I have to take, the money it takes to maintain you, carb counts. Did you know that if I want a pump it means I will have to forgo the braces? Yeah, you suck. The hiding I’ve done because of you, only recently have I taken both feet out of that “Diabetes Closet”. When I think of the responsibility I have because of you. Most of my friends know what carbs are, but they don’t find ways to stretch a meal so they can have a bit of everything. I don’t save room for dessert, I save carbs for dessert. I’ve found ways around having to get a shot to eat something. You made me wish for lows for those years when you wouldn’t budge from those mid 200’s. And now that I have them again, I hate them! I wish you would play fair. I wish you would give me a break. But I know that that will probably never happen. I have to find a way to get on your good side. I try not to fight you, I try embracing you, but it’s hard when you act like the preteen that you are and want to be independent. I’m working overtime and you my friend are tripping me when I am leading the race. I wish you would stop. But until we find a way to make peace I’ll see you every night at 11, 1, and 4. I’ll push you down with insulin, I’ll log your every move, and fight my way to be number one and put you in your proper place. I won’t give up. I won’t let you do that to me. Unlike with other things in my life quitting is NOT an option.
All the best,