I hate diabetes. I hate that it makes me feel like a failure when I get something wrong. I hate that a stupid misstep of a button combined with one give in to an unhealthy craving can result in hours upon hours of feeling shitty…because one, I messed up, two, why’d I have to give in to that dumb craving and three, my sugars are through the damn roof and I feel like I am trapped in my own body without relief.
I hate that this makes me so upset. How can ONE meal make a person fall to pieces? Just ONE.
How can just one misstep, well maybe two, make someone feel like a complete failure? How can it make you so upset?
I can’t remember the last time my sugars neared 500. Well, NOW I can, last night.
Who gets excited about waking up at 281? Realistically, who the hell wakes up waiting to look at a number? And, I’m not really excited about 281, I’m actually pretty pissed off about it. But, I’m happy it’s not even higher than it was before I took an ungodly amount of insulin and drank a liter of water before I was too tired to stay awake and follow dumb numbers.
Did I mention I didn’t feel that great BEFORE this debacle? Having a sore throat and hurting lungs doesn’t really add anything positive to the situation.
I hate that looking at the numbers 399, 429 and 462 can paralyze my ability to be positive about anything. How can simple numbers make such an impact? I’m sick of numbers being more than just a phone number, the amount of money in my bank account (which isn’t always fun to look at because half my damn paycheck goes to effing medical stuff), the price of a pair of super cute shoes, or days away from a holiday/birthday/event. All of those numbers are so much less significant than the ones I get from a dumb little meter several times a day.
I’d like to lay in bed all day and cry. Damn diabetes, I hate you and I hate what you do to me.
Apparently getting this out there is supposed to help…thus far it hasn’t…oh wait, the tears have stopped, at least momentarily.