Defeat the Low

I’ve been doing a great amount of thinking lately (and a great amount of reading at that), which as always can be a good or a bad thing.

As of right now, it’s been neither really. I can’t really wrap my head around it. I guess I’ve just been thinking about so many different things that I haven’t really been able to settle on one specific thing for any length of time, and during all the time I’m not thinking actively, I’m either reading, sleeping, or playing piano.

And here, I discuss what’s been occupying my mind as of late:

I’m worried about school. Classes start for me on the 18th and I’m not nearly as scared as I was this time last year. I know more or less what to expect now. I’m eager to meet my new teachers, for film to really start, to get back on an active schedule and stop feeling like such a recluse. My worries, however, are for my sensor. Whenever I think about it, I just think about the two years I was on the pump, and how much taunting and ridiculing I had to endure because of it. The one thing that really sets me apart from most people was put almost proudly on display for everyone to see, and it was very difficult to hide as my wire hated being tucked into the waistband of my pants. I know that the receiver I will keep hidden in my bag; I’ll have to remind myself it’s in there so as to keep myself from hurling my bag around as I so often used to. I’m also likely going to invest in some big sweaters to cover the actual sensor on my stomach. This is really the only thing I’m apprehensive about for the upcoming school year, but it’s enough to keep me up at night every now and then.

I can’t wait until I have a place of my own. I can’t wait to move out, honestly. Now, with the rest of my family working every morning and most afternoons, I have the house to myself for plentiful hours Monday through Friday, and I absolutely love it. I don’t mind washing the dishes, or sorting the dirty clothes, or picking up after everyone. It gives me a sense of responsibility I absolutely love feeling. Through this, despite everything my countless doctors have tried telling me, I feel like I can take care of myself. I don’t have to rely on anyone, and I’m not scared to be alone for long periods of time. I know nothing will happen to me, especially not now that I’m on the sensor and keeping a much tighter control on my diabetes. I honestly feel better than I have in five years. I love the quiet, the stillness, not being afraid to go to the kitchen in my underwear to get some string cheese. I really honestly cannot wait to move out.

I am actually a crazy fangirl. This disappoints me, as I usually cannot stand fangirls; I find them annoying and usually, I feel that they make whatever they’re obsessing over less special than it has the potential of being. But after sitting for five hours at my desk finishing my fifth book in two days, and squealing as the guy and girl ended up together and returned all their loved ones to the base camp, I realized: I am a fangirl. I need rehab, maybe even some therapy, maybe some medication. Scratch that, no rehab, if anyone even tried to take away my books at the moment I might bite them. My books are what is keeping me grounded at the time, and I haven’t felt this alive, because of anything, in a really long time. Books have given me back what I lost a few years ago and that I didn’t see returning for a very long time, if at all, and that is hope.

I haven’t been drawing lately. I’ve lost any sliver of creativity I used to have, and I don’t know why. I’m guessing I have artist’s block. At least this opened up more reading time.

I haven’t felt anxious in a while. I’ve even felt slightly motivated every now and then, such as when doing my summer reading. It feels great. It really, really does, more than I could ever hope to accurately express. I don’t feel like a zombie anymore, I don’t feel like I’m just surviving. I truly feel like I’m living. I’m in the here, right now, and I haven’t felt this alive in a really long time.

I really hope this lasts. I really, really do.



This week has been quite a roller coaster, and not the pleasant kind. I fell really badly, in an emotional way, especially the last three days. If I let myself think for long enough, my heart starts pounding and my lungs forget that oxygen is their friend and my hands start shaking and I become a mess, so I’ve been trying to not think to much. As you can expect, this hasn’t been working too well.

I’m proud to say I didn’t resort to self harm after such a slump. It was disheartening that my good moods seemed to become a thing of the past as the days progressed, but I kept myself together enough to not break out the razor stashed in my drawer, and if anything good happened this week, it was that. I truly am proud of myself for that. I think it’s a sign that I do have the willpower to get better, I just need to remind myself of that willpower every now and then. I know that had I had a week like this one a year ago, my thighs would be a bloody mess right now.

My would-be(?) significant other leaves tomorrow for three weeks to another continent and that has me in shambles. As much as I try to deny it, I do still have feelings for her, strong ones, that seem more vibrant and fresh every time we’re together. I’m just completely fed up with feeling like she probably never had the same feelings towards me as I do for her. I’m sick of the one-sidedness of our relationship. As much as I’ve been trying to suppress my feelings, however, they surfaced today with a vengeance. It just really brings me down, the thought that while she’s away for the next three weeks, I will miss her terribly, but I know she probably won’t be missing me.

I really wish my mom would listen to my pleas of getting me a psychologist. I have the willpower to get better, I just need some pushing and prodding, and really just someone to talk to. It’s sad that I feel like the only person I may feel comfortable talking to is being paid to listen to me complain, but hey people pay for worse things.

Here’s to hoping for a better week.

I’m a Mess of Tears and Anxiety

I now fully regret showing my dad my first blog video. I’m in the midst of a very bad anxiety attack and I’m trying very hard not to cry. I only showed him the video because I felt bad that I rarely share anything with him. Most often, I talk to my mom about my day, recounting all of the day’s events, what I did and every now and then how I felt. With my dad, I have a very different relationship, one that usually consists of quiet nights watching TV shows or movies together. I just showed him the video so that he felt like I confide him just as much as I do my mom, and now I completely regret it.

Upon showing him the video, my dad proceeded to forward it to all of my cousins, aunts, and uncles who all subscribed to my channel and are now “sharing” my videos all over FaceBook and the complete anxiety that takes over me the more I see my stupid face on my newsfeed is completely crippling me. I appreciate their support wholeheartedly, I just wished it would have stopped with their subscriptions. Now, I know that I won’t be able to talk as blatantly about my disease as I would have, had they not known about the videos.

The videos were supposed to be my therapy. They were supposed to be for me to release all of the negativity I have about my disease and now I feel like I can’t be as open about it and the overwhelming hate I have towards myself at this moment for ever bringing up the video with my dad is reducing me to a puddle of tears and I can’t breathe.

The worst part is I can’t tell my family, much less my dad, to stop because I know his feelings would be hurt and I don’t want that at all. I want my family’s support, just not in such an overwhelming way.
I don’t even feel like doing the vlog anymore. All of the excitement and anticipation for it has completely evaporated.

I haven’t cried this bad in a really long time.

Such Great Heights

I’m very happy to announce that I’ve uploaded my first vlog video!

I decided to make my vlog dedicated to my diabetes. I’m hoping this will serve as a sort of therapy for me, and eventually I will become more comfortable with my disease and it will no longer be my Achille’s heel. It’d be wonderful if any of you watch my video, and even better if you subscribe! I’m really, really excited for this project. I have a lot of big goals for this vlog.

The Child We Lost (Or Never Had) 1963

As always, I’ve been thinking a lot these past few months, and I have reached my decision where I never want to become pregnant. Weird, I know. Last year at one of my many doctor’s appointments, I was told by my endocrinologist that although it wasn’t necessary for me to know at this age, if I ever wanted to become pregnant, my A1C had to be at 7 or lower.

Your A1C, in basic terms, is the average of your blood sugars over the past three months. The average person who does not have diabetes has an A1C between 4.5 and 6. My A1C has not been lower than 8 for about seven years.

Upon receiving this news, my heart dropped. Not only would my A1C have to be under 7 before even conceiving the baby, it would have to remain under 7 during the entire duration of my pregnancy and the birth of the baby. At that moment, I knew that despite my best efforts to get my sugars into check to that point, it will likely never happen. At that moment, I realized I probably would never end up having my own child.

Now, my thoughts on this matter are more that I don’t want to have my own child instead of I can’t. Even if I miraculously managed to control my diabetes that well, there are numerous other complications that could occur, simply because of how long I have had the disease. Doctors have always told me that diabetic complications begin coming into effect usually after having the disease for ten years. I will have had Type 1 Diabetes for 14 years on August 25th. By the time I predict I would be considering having children, I will have had the disease for approximately 25 years. Anything could happen. Complications occur with women who are perfectly sound and healthy, who’s to say they won’t happen to me? God knows I’m as far from healthy as you can get.

I know it’s still very early for me to even be thinking about kids or pregnancy or anything of that nature. I’m a girl, though, it’s what we do. I’ve had dreams of being a mom, of raising my kids, being a better parent than my parents were to me. I’m now content with the idea of adopting older kids, ideally between the ages of 12 and 14. I feel these kids are the ones who usually get ignored at foster homes and adoption agencies, and I want to give those kids the chance that they probably never otherwise would have gotten at a real home, and love.

Every now and then I still feel bitter, though. It’s just another thing the diabetes has taken from me. But I’m resolute in my decision at making something unfortunate into something I will always be proud of. There’s enough kids in the world anyway.

I’m Sick in More Ways Than One

I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown once again. The diabetes camp has led me to put the imaginary walls I have around my heart concerning my diabetes down and it hurts so much when I’m forced to remember why I put them up in the first place. It sucks stepping out of camp and being in the real world and talking about my Dexcom Sensor and getting the stares. Not even pity, it’s simply stares of confusion and lack of understanding and it hurts so much. I know I can’t expect people to understand, but it’s hard to transition when I’m coming from a place where everyone knows exactly what I’m dealing with and I don’t even have to bother explaining myself because they already understand.
There’s so much more I want to say on the topic I just know the words to explain myself without breaking down completely. Starting tomorrow, the walls go back up.

Afterthought: today at camp I realized I hadn’t thought about suicide since Monday, the first day I volunteered at the camp.

Part 2

I also had a very sobering moment today. The camp is a sleep away camp, therefore there is one cabin for the girls, one cabin for the boys, and the cabin we call the Main Hall where we gather for meals and activities. There are ten girls and nine boys attending the camp this year. While we are at camp grounds, all of the kids are running around with their pumps and sensors displayed proudly on their belts. Being self conscious about those things doesn’t exist here. However; today’s field trip was to our community’s public pool, and I noticed upon arrival to the pool that all of the kids with pumps, especially the girls, were being careful to tuck their pumps away under their shirts or in the pockets where they were not visible. It broke my heart a bit watching the kids feeling forced to cover themselves and hide.

I recently started using the Dexcom G4 Sensor which checks my sugar every five minutes, alerts me when my sugars are heading out of range, and also displays my sugars for the past 24 hours on a neat chart. I could not believe the stares I was receiving when walking on the sides of the pool as people entirely indiscreetly stared at my sensor site and gave me a look I normally would associate with a look you gave to a terminally ill cancer patient. I’m not sick, I will *hopefully* not be dying soon. I don’t need your looks of pity.

I had another moment where I felt completely helpless when talking with some of the campers. As they were telling me their stories from being diagnosed, their faces suddenly became drastically forlorn and somber, and I didn’t know the words to tell them to make them feel better.

An important part of this camp is, kids with diabetes learn they aren’t alone. They learn that life isn’t so bad with the disease. I will forever be grateful to this camp for helping me feel not so different. This camp is the only place I have ever truly felt comfortable and at peace with my disease.

Not so Different After All

This week I will be volunteering at a very lovely summer camp dedicated to Type 1 diabetics between the ages of six and twelve. Today was my first official day as a volunteer and words cannot describe how much I love this camp.

Something people need to understand is, and I’m not speaking only for myself, I’m speaking for most diabetics especially such as those attending this summer camp, young people with diabetes often feel like the “odd-ones-out”. Never have I thought that I fit in well with my group of friends, and it is impossible that any of my friends would ever understand how it feels to have diabetes. It also becomes something of a hassle when I am trying to vent to my friends about my diabetes, but I have to keep stopping to explain to them a certain aspect of my diabetes. It’s gotten to the point where I realize that it isn’t worth my time.

At camp, however, everyone understands. Today during lunch I was having a conversation with three other volunteers, two of whom have diabetes, and we were trading back and forth hospital stories and other anecdotes about our lives with diabetes. The volunteer who does not have diabetes confessed that he felt completely out of place since he did not have diabetes, which, I told him, was the entire point of the camp. The camp is dedicated to making kids with diabetes not feel so different, for us to make friends who share our disease and know we aren’t alone.

To be continued in another post because of word count limitations~

My Dexcom sensor

My Dexcom sensor


This post will contain spoilers.

I am so infuriated with how Veronica Roth finished the Divergent series. Absolutely infuriated. I think it was entirely inappropriate for Tris to have died.
I’m upset about it because to me, the entire purpose of the series, as made apparent by the last lines of Allegiant where Tobias says “Since I was young, I have always known this: Life damages us, every one. We can’t escape that damage. But now, I am also learning this: We can be mended. We mend each other.” was for the reader to learn to be brave and for the reader to learn a valuable lesson about life and most importantly, love. Throughout the entire series as I was reading, I found myself learning more and more about love and why all of my past relationships, not only ones with romantic partners but even with friends and family, have failed or become otherwise strained over time.

I understand why Roth killed off Tris: Life ends, but love does not die with it.

However; I don’t think readers of the series were able to see Tobias reach his full potential. He needed Tris. He and Tris were supposed to end up living the life they spoke about before Tobias left back to Chicago and Tris left to have her supposed last minutes with her brother. The point of it was for the reader to learn that love triumphs all.

I am someone who is very heavily influenced by books. I read them not only for entertainment, but to learn from them. I think what sets a good author apart from a great author is where a good author only entertains, a great author also teaches. My favorite books are all books from which I’ve learned about life and love, how to build a strong character, how to be your own person, but also how to know when to let others in. As I was reading the Divergent series, as I was reading Tris and Tobias’s stories, I saw a happy ending, I saw two people who had lived through harrowing events grow together and helped bring out the best in each other. This reassured me into thinking that I will eventually find someone who I will grow with, who will remind me of how strong I am, and who I can help in return. I just hope I’m not killed before we can have a true relationship together.

I’m very upset with the ending of this series, almost to the point of not even recommending it to anyone else. I think the ending was entirely unsuitable and unfit for the story.

***These are all my personal opinions***

Ramblings of a Type 1 Diabetic

I was just talking to my would-be significant other for the first time in about four days, and it went incredibly well. That isn’t the point of this post, however; the point was I was telling her about the “bionic pancreas” that will *hopefully* be available to diabetics, namely Type 1, within the next three years.

I get a really warm and fuzzy feeling in my stomach whenever I think about it. Just the thought that I will no longer have to endure the pain I’ve been putting up with for the last almost fourteen years is almost enough to make me cry uncontrollably.

At the same token, it makes me dreadfully terrified. Who am I if I am not diabetic? What’s it like to wake up in the morning and instead of thinking “I’m still diabetic, I still have to go through this torture, I’m still not healthy, I’m still not me” it’s more like “I’m still diabetic, I I’m not. I’m not diabetic.” I think I’ll always think of myself as being diabetic, even when a true cure is discovered, if one is discovered in my lifetime, simply because it is so ingrained in my brain. I do not have a single damn memory where I did not have diabetes.

I pray everyday (even though I don’t truly believe in a God) that I will be cured and this mess that is my life because of my diabetes will start anew and I will be healthy and I will be happy.

But, who am I once you take away my diabetes?