It has taken me a while to get around to writing this, not because I did not want to or was dreading the thought of putting my words on paper, but rather because the daily life of a Type 1 Diabetic got in the way (how convenient right?). But before I get to that point, it’s essential to rewind to 10 months ago.

10 months ago, I was a college senior. Care-free. Drinking. Staying out late. Hanging with my friends. Laughing. Dancing way too much. Today I am a type 1 diabetic. Not care-free. Not drinking as much. Not staying out late. Prioritizing myself over others. And only dancing when I am trying to cover up the pain from a tender injection shot. Yup. This is my life now, and I’ve learned to embrace it. Cause hey, it’s not the end of my journey, just a minor inconvenience, and it sure as hell isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. So bear with me as I try to put my thoughts into words about this shitty situation.

December 28th was the day my life changed forever. I remember it perfectly, well up until I heard those three words (don’t get all sappy on me, I’m not talking about I love you), but rather three words no one ever wants to hear, which is why I completely blacked out after.

What I do remember is sitting on the chair in the doctor’s office with my dad sitting to the left of me. The words you are diabetic came slowly out of my doctor’s mouth, as I clung onto the last word he said. I remember noticing his lazy eye moments before and thinking, “how unfortunate that he has such a bad, lazy eye,” yeah…I regret thinking that now. But it is almost human nature to judge others by their appearance, something I have become extremely familiar with as I am currently wearing a Dexcom on my left arm where it is exposed to everyone. I’ve had countless people judge me for being diabetic, saying I brought upon myself or its in my genes. Well, hey, guess what fools, none of those are correct. Nope, that’s right, none. No, I did not eat something that caused my type 1 and for your record, I don’t have a relative or family member with type 1- you can fact check me on that (yes calling you out, the fake news skeptics). Type 1 has connections to family genes, but in my case, I do not have any relatives with type 1. So, I was shit out of luck. Got the short end of the stick. Last pick on the kickball team. You get the point.

What I thought would be the death of me, was actually the start of a completely new me. While it has only been 11 months since my diagnosis, I think it has completely changed me as a person, as cliché that is to say.

I used to be a numbers person, some would almost say I was another type, no not Type 1 but Type A. I was stubborn, always striving to be perfect. I wanted to have the perfect grades in the class, perfect score on the test, perfect resume, the perfect clothes, get into the perfect school, and get the perfect job. While I quickly learned being perfect was not possible, I would still beat myself up profusely for not being perfect. So, when I was diagnosed and learned that I could never have perfect numbers, I lost it. The first few months, I beat myself up, my numbers were not perfect; therefore, I was not perfect. Those first few months sucked. I tried everything to be perfect, but I quickly learned that type 1 was a learning curve, and every day was different. What worked for me yesterday would not necessarily work for me today. I was overloaded with units per carbs and ratios; it was overwhelming, but I was trying. Well, at least there was something I was good at there, learning: learning to accept that what worked yesterday might not work today, learning to be okay with seeing red lows on my DEXCOM or the number 218 on my meter. Learning to realize it is okay to make mistakes when you are learning, but to be sure to learn from them (yeah flashback to when I gave myself 8 units of Humalog instead of my Tresiba at bedtime and woke up with a low so low the DEXCOM could not even read it..oops?). Regardless of the many mistakes, I have made so far on this journey, I have learned from them.

While I was type A before being type 1, you could say organization was never one of my fortes. I loved organizing other people’s stuff but dreaded organizing my own things. Maybe this was because I was striving to be perfect in all the other areas of my life that I forgot about organizing my own room? Honestly, who knows, but now I am an organizing freak. I guess it is because my life revolves around me being organized. For instance, if I am having a low and cannot find my skittles, strictly the green, red, yellow, or orange flavor (purple you suck and taste like grape medicine from when I was six), I could pass out. Therefore, I need to have my supplies always organized and close by. Ikea and the Container Store have become my best friends, along with multiple Pinterest boards that show Mario Kondo organization levels on steroids. Seriously, if I don’t make it in the real world, I think organizing diabetic supplies could be my next gig.

I have essentially found out who my closet friends are, the ones who sat with me after my diagnosis while I cried, versus the friends I have still yet to tell in fear they will judge me. I think that is the hardest part of this chronic illness- being judged for something you didn’t bring on and cannot control. We, as diabetics, feel ashamed, ashamed that we have this disease that we did not cause. We feel embarrassed. Embarrassed to tell others in fear of what they will say. We feel lonely. Lonely in the fact that sometimes when we are having lows in the middle of the night, that’s when you realize how bewildering and dark being alone really is. Being alone in your thought before you inject your self, being alone at the grocery store surrounded by a room of strangers but feeling so alone when having to pick out food items that will not kill you in the future. Alone in the bathroom at your favorite concert because you are having a low and need immediate glucose. Alone in the hospital as you wait for your parents to arrive after going unconscious for a low. These emotions and feelings are what being type 1 encompasses. Not only are you always fighting the meter and racing against your numbers, but you are fighting your dark and depressed thoughts. The thoughts that are deeply engrained in your mind from stereotypes that society has cast upon this horrible disease. The stereotypes I used to believe in, as much as I hate to admit.

When I heard those three words from my doctor, those stereotypes of being diabetic flashed through my mind. I remembered growing up seeing someone prick their finger in public and thinking how gross that was, and now my life depends on it. There are multiple thoughts I wish I could take back, thinking my doctor had a lazy eye, thinking all diabetics were obese, thinking diabetics brought it upon them self for eating unhealthy.

I used to joke that I would eat so much chocolate that one day, it would kill me. Well, that joke is no longer a joke but a real potential if I don’t control my life and diabetes. Taking control of my health is something I have been working on and frankly, something I will always be working on. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t reflect on how I was before I was diagnosed, carefree, easy-going, more energetic, but I know one day I will be able to experience that feeling again. One day there will be a cure. One day there will be no more problems accessing affordable insulin. One day there will be no more tears from children having their childhood stripped from them after a diagnosis. One day there will be no more type 1 diabetes. Until that day, I will continue fighting for a cure and fighting for an end to this horrible illness.

As I sit here trying to conclude by first blog post perfectly, I realize the completion of the post is just like being diabetic, there is no end. There is no perfect ending in a world where there is no cure for this disease. So let’s all join together on this journey, because hey, it might be a shitty inconvenience, but certainly NOT the end of my journey. Thank you to everyone who has supported me and uplifted me the past few months, your words, support, and kind gestures me more to me than any of you will ever know.