Normal

Alright, so I fell off the band wagon and disappeared for a while. What’s the big deal? My life got flipped, turned upside down, I guess you can say. Life completely changed on me and I took off on yet another journey that has taken me up to this very moment. And this—this is an important moment.

I came home from the hospital yesterday. I was there for a few days. DKA again. Second time in the past 6 months. I believe that to be the fourth time overall since being diagnosed in 2009. This last time, the Diabetes nurse came to my room telling me I was her top priority because my A1c was a 15. Completely off her chart (Something around a 400 average blood sugar over the last 3 months). She said it was the highest A1c she had ever seen. After talking for a brief time, it began to dawn on me more and more what the underlying issue was. 

It was my depression that was killing me.

After I got home yesterday, I thought more about it. I thought back to every doctor, nurse, family member and friend who lectured me over and over again to take care of myself. That if I continue like this, I will end up—well, let’s just say, it won’t be good. I would matter-of-factly explain to them that I knew what to do. I knew how to take care of myself. That I probably knew more about Type 1 Diabetes than they did. And honestly, this was all true, although no one would ever believe me. I would tell them all this and then explain to them that I just wouldn’t. Needless to say, they got angry and frustrated with me. They couldn’t understand why. No one ever really bothered to dig a little deeper and figure it out with me. I barely knew why.

I believe I have figured it out now. It isn’t that I want to die. It isn’t that I want to be sick. And I certainly don’t want to end up in the hospital all the time. 

I just want to be normal again.

Normal to me is not having it all together. Normal is not testing my blood sugar all the time. Normal is not shooting myself up with insulin every time I want to eat. Normal people don’t do that. I pushed it aside. I made myself sick day after day until I couldn’t take it anymore and finally gave in. But the thing with giving in—it was me admitting that I wasn’t normal. When I finally stuck myself with a needle, it was almost like me punishing myself for having it.

I would cry when I did it.

I know how backwards that sounds. I understand I am nuts. But now that I have realized this, it has given me a new outlook. Normal is being healthy and living as well as you can by doing whatever it is that you have to do to do so. Everyone has their ailments. Some minor, some major. People with horrible vision don’t walk around without their glasses just because “normal” people don’t wear them. They put them on so that they can live normally. People don’t walk around making themselves suffer—at least they shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t. 

I do want to live a healthy life. I don’t want to punish myself anymore. I’m done with the hospital. I am done with DKA. I am going to finally start working on me again. It’s about time.

Ciao.

In The Dark

I think this is going to be one of the hardest posts to talk about. I may even cry while I write it. I think I may have gone off the deep end.I have been so lost that I didn't even realize yesterday was Wednesday, so I didn't post anything. I didn't even take part in my Wednesday night DSMA chat on Twitter that I always had looked forward too. I am just a complete disaster right now.

I broke up with my boyfriend. Bottom line is that I was not happy. At all. I felt trapped. I felt controlled. I was getting more and more depressed every week that went by. It just wasn't pretty and I knew I had to get out. He did not take it well. He has made me out to be an evil person, kicked me out of my own apartment, and is threatening to tell the cops that I attacked him if I show up there. He has gotten me so frightened that I am scared to go back. Now I am sleeping on my mother's couch. Just where I started before I met him. My furniture is there, and I am now living out of bags.

If I wasn't already having a horrible time with diabetes, this has made it a billion times worse. I don't want to eat, but when I do, I don't even think about taking a shot. I am finding it hard forcing myself to. I have checked my sugars maybe 3 times in the past few days. If that. It's like I pushed it aside. Right now, I don't even care anymore. I give up. I surrender. Please, just go away, Diabetes, while I handle this!! I can't handle anything. I am crying too much. I am shaking too much. You are just too much of a pain in the ass. Just go away and leave me be!!

I really just want to hide. I'll go admit myself into the hospital right now. But then again, I can't. I have to figure things out. I have to go to work. I have to go to school. I have to find a place to live. I have to actually deal with life. I can't just hide. I actually have to be responsible. Argh.

I really should just blame myself for this. I am the one who broke up with him. I should have known this would happen. I feel so stupid and so lost. I am done. I have lost it.

Thanks.

In Need Of A Helping Hand

Depression. This word has been a huge part of my life for almost 15 years. It comes and goes, but it always dwells deep inside of me and every so often, it screams to come out. Sometimes I let it, sometimes I don't. This time, it took over and didn't even let me choose.

When I get depressed, the signs are very recognizable. The dishes pile up. The clothes remain unwashed. My spirit and life disappear for a while. I get overwhelmed and the longer things go on this track, the harder it is for me to bounce back. This is not a good thing for a diabetic. Not at all.

Type 1 Diabetes can be overwhelming for anyone, depression or not. There is so much to think about--so much to worry about. Add depression into the mix, you've got yourself a problem.

I'm not sure if it is the diabetes that is causing my depression this time, or if it is just depression itself. It may be that my sugars being so high lately is causing me to lose hope, or if my depression is causing my high blood sugars. Either way, it is getting harder and harder everyday for me to focus. It is to the point where I don't even want to eat because I don't want to have to deal with giving myself insulin. I don't even want to check my blood sugar level because I am afraid to see what it is. It all just makes me want to cry and hide away in my bedroom.

People ask me why I don't see anyone about depression or why I don't take medication for it. The thing is, every time I have seen someone, I always end up answering my own questions, and I feel like I am paying them for nothing. I just feel like I can always just get myself out of it. And I always do. I have tried to take medication for it, but it never worked for me. Again, I have always been able to get myself out of it. I don't need to put a magic pill into my system. Sometimes I feel like maybe I do need to and I am just being stubborn, but it doesn't matter either way. I pay too much for my other medications anyway. I can't add another one into the bunch.

For now, I will just deal with it. Make the motions. I get scared, though. My depression has never been this bad since being diagnosed. I am not sure how I will handle it and for how long it will last. I am reaching my hand out for help. I am desperate for someone to take it because I cannot do this alone.

Thanks for reading and the comments. Thank you for your support.

Driving In The Breakdown Lane

Anyone who has Diabetes can tell you that the period of time after the initial shock is a difficult one. Some call it the honeymoon period. I'm not sure I have a name for it, but it was anything but a honeymoon. The biggest problem I had in the beginning was getting constant blood sugar drops. I mostly got them at work, and to tell you the truth, I really didn't mind. I sort of liked taking more breaks and not to mention--it was another excuse to eat which I love to do. It was also a relief to me. I figured that it was better to be too low because I had been so high for so long. According to my doctor, this wasn't the case. Oh well, I suppose.

It was soon, then, that my personal life began to fall apart. I lost my car, my apartment, and above all, I lost control. I found a new home on my mother's couch and depression set in. My Diabetes got too much to handle for me, and my health concern began to slip through the cracks. That is when the suicidal thoughts began to pull up a chair in my mind. The "lows" that my doctor warned me about seemed to sound like a better idea every time I thought about it. More and more I found myself considering filling up my syringe and just injecting as much insulin as possible into myself. One night, I realized that I needed help.

I remember that night vividly. I had taken my mother's car out for a drive because I just needed to think. I couldn't believe this had happened to me. Why me? I wasn't strong enough to deal with this sort of thing! My life was a mess as it was. I couldn't handle anything else. I began to cry hysterically. I yelled and screamed and pounded on the steering wheel. I almost drove myself off the road. I pulled over and let it out as much as I could. When my fit had calmed, I drove back home to my mother. I woke up her and told her everything I was thinking and feeling. She felt that it was best to go to the ER.

That night was the last night I had those horrible thoughts. Perhaps it was just another step that I needed to take in the long road ahead of me. Just thinking about it, though, brings tears to my eyes. It will still be a long time until I accepted the fact that I am a diabetic. Stay tuned for more of my story!

A Brief History and Introduction

Let me introduce myself. I am Mary, I am 29, and I am a diabetic mess--or at least I have been up until now. Before I get into the "now", though, let me take you back two years to where my ominous adventure began.

I was 27 and my life was going fine. All of the sudden, everything started to change. I was getting these strange symptoms that I had never experienced before. I was always thirsty and was taking more bathroom breaks than anyone at work. This went on for about a week or so and I finally decided that there was something wrong. I wasn't exactly sure what, so I went over my mother's house and talked to her about it. Being a Type 2 Diabetic, she immediately recognized the problem and quickly got her meter out and pricked my finger. Sure enough, my blood sugar was well above 500--not that I knew what that meant at the time. Concerned, she rushed my over to the Emergency Room where they did test after test. They eventually diagnosed me as a Type 2 and sent me home with a prescription for Metformin. I was very confused how this could have happened. I was a relatively healthy 27 year old woman who was not in the least obese (which I thought at the time you had to be to get Diabetes). They assured me that it was possible .
I took the Metformin for about a month, thinking "this isn't so bad". Everyone that I told said that it was a good thing I didn't get the "other type". I didn't know much about the "other type" except that it was the kind children got and it had nothing to do with lifestyle or diet. Basically, Type 1 wasn't your fault. I guess I sort of wished deep down that it had been, so that I couldn't blame myself for giving myself the disease.

During this month, I began to drop pounds like crazy. Everyone complemented me and I felt great. I figured it was because of the new diet I was on. One day at work, I had some sudden back pain. I had decided it must have been from lifting a heavy box at work and my boss sent me over to the clinic to get it checked out. It would be two weeks until I returned back to work. At the clinic, the doctor was very concerned and he admitted there was nothing he could do, and so he sent me to the ER. I was in Diabetic Ketoacidosis with an new, official diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes.

I set up residence in the hospital for a week after that. For the first 3 days, they wouldn't let me eat a thing and just gave me fluids and insulin through an IV. It was excruciating. Every hour, they came in and poked my fingers. My room was swarming with nurses, doctors, and CNAs on top of all the social workers, educators, family and friends. Everything happened so fast that I felt like a deer in headlights. I didn't even have time to feel anything--emotionally that is. It wasn't until one of my last nights there when I finally broke down and cried. I felt safe in the hospital and I was nervous to go out on my own to fend for myself. I knew that I didn't have the strength and will power to do it with no one there watching me. Nevertheless, I had to move on.

They sent me home with a goody bag of stuff, including my very own testing meter as well as pamphlet upon pamphlet of information that would end up just collecting dust. I stayed out of work another week and when I returned, everyone was my new best friend, assisting me in any way they could. I assured them I was fine, but was thankful for all the support.

This was probably one of the worst moments of my life, as you can imagine. My story goes on, though. I will continue it in my next few posts to get you up to speed with my situation. What I hope to do is help others through this blog who have gone, or are going through, the same thing as me. I am here for you, if you need me. Feel free to comment to message me with anything you want! And please, keep coming back to hear more of my story!