September 3rd makes me angry.
It's not intentional, but it's a problem. Maybe.
Have you noticed I'm not too thrilled about this year's dia-versary?
Last year when my diabetes turned 21 I picked a fight on twitter with a local Doctor-slash-media-darling and his followers who were commenting on a promotion by a fast-food restaurant (Dairy Queen, I think) who was donating a percentage of ice cream sales to JDRF.
This guy is a huge proponent of balanced plant-based diets and exercise, and is (it seems/if his book sales are any indication) a beloved member of the community in my city. I followed him on twitter because my Nancy is a fan of his work, and up until a year ago, I was as well.
On Sept the 3rd of 2014 I was waiting at work for some processing to run, I scrolled through my twitter feed and saw this comment. I saw red; my vision literally clouded over and I felt blind-sided by the rage that had built swiftly and with a vengeance. I was furious -- he was essentially saying that by choosing to purchase food products from a retailer who serves sugary snacks, despite this restaurant donating part of their proceeds to JDRF, the buyer was contributing to a diabetes epidemic.
I called him out, as well as some of his followers. I spent a lot of that day trying to explain to randos on the internet how hurtful and cruel their comments were. I think that day was the first time I realized how difficult it is to express yourself in 140 characters or less, and I'm not sure I managed to convince anyone to change their minds on the issue.
Despite this, I remain convinced that my inability to clearly articulate my argument does not make me wrong.
This year I haven't gone on any internet-rampages; rather, I found my mood sitting somewhere in the "I dare you to fuck with me" realm.
I hate this. I hate diabetes. I hate how upsetting I find it and I hate how angry it sometimes makes me. I hate how there are days where I am so frustrated with trying to stay alive that I honestly and truly believe I might just give up, just lose the ability to continue to try, consequences be damned.
It crosses my mind every time I bolus for a large meal that unless I eat, I have likely just given a lethal dose of a medication. Sometimes this balancing act feels all but impossible.
None of this is coming out as I want it to, but that's about the norm as far as my diabetes-related-feelings go.