Happy anniversary, dear pancreas
Just wanted to mention that today is the one-year anniversary of being officially diagnosed a diabetic.
Diabetic! It's sort of bittersweet to remember what that word used to mean to me. It meant, "No candy." It meant, "Insulin injections." Skinny, sickly people with pale and clammy skin, or fat people with swollen, purple legs and missing toes or feet. It meant passing out or going into hysterics if some thirsty co-worker had drunk your emergency orange juice out of the break room fridge, or walking with a cane and a limp because you'd stubbed your toe two weeks ago and it just wasn't healing.
Now, a year into my own "diabetes journey," mostly what it means to me is that I have no more excuses for not taking the best possible care of myself. And with this latest recurrence of my anxiety disorder (as distinguished from my usual garden-variety anxiety, which is irritating but not disabling), I'm realizing that yeah – everything I can do to be good to myself, is worth doing.
So maybe I will still have a spoonful of ice cream every now and then, because pleasure is the most healing force I can think of. The worst thing about clinical depression – one of the worst things – is that it takes away the ability to feel pleasure, and that just makes everything even harder.
After the ice cream, I will walk on the treadmill, or run, or ride my bike, or possibly even dance around the living room for awhile. Burning up all the extra adrenaline feels good, and it brings my blood sugar way down, too.
About the panic – I had forgotten what a physical experience it is. I only took two of those pills (one on Friday, and one on Saturday), so I know it isn't that. It's just my body, trying to get back to itself. Super-surges of adrenaline in the mornings, and lots of intense muscle tension in weird places, like my arms and stomach and throat. I can feel my muscles twitching and trembling as they try to relax. I'm sleeping better again though, and could concentrate well enough to write a really kick-ass promo piece tonight, and as of right now have gone two whole days without crying. So I think I'm on the mend.
Maybe I should explain about the crying, for those who've never experienced a thing like this. It's not like normal crying, which usually happens for some kind of reason. It's more like ... well, it feels almost like I imagine it might feel to have a seizure. My nervous system just takes over and goes a little crazy for awhile. It's not "because" of anything that's happened, and there's no way to soothe it or comfort it. It just needs to run its course. And it's distressing while it's happening (not only to me but also to anyone who has the misfortune of being around to see it), but I've learned to just let it flow, because I always feel so much better when it's done.
It's weird to write about this in public. It feels so vulnerable ... and I don't want anyone to think there's something "wrong" with me. Even though there obviously is! I guess I'm just putting this out there because it's made a difference to me, especially in this last year, to read about other people's experiences with illness and suffering, and how they made it through – or even just what they're thinking as they're making it through – or not making it – and I feel like being willing to talk about my own experiences is a way of helping to clear away the stigma that makes people feel so desperate and alone when these things are happening in their lives. People need to be able to feel safe talking about this stuff.
P.S. I've had a couple of dreams in the last few nights that have illuminated some possible reasons why the events (actually, the mere contemplation of possible events) of the last month or so have knocked me for such an unexpected and apparently incomprehensible loop. It's kind of disturbing information ... but at least now I'm clear about what I need to be looking at.
Diabetic! It's sort of bittersweet to remember what that word used to mean to me. It meant, "No candy." It meant, "Insulin injections." Skinny, sickly people with pale and clammy skin, or fat people with swollen, purple legs and missing toes or feet. It meant passing out or going into hysterics if some thirsty co-worker had drunk your emergency orange juice out of the break room fridge, or walking with a cane and a limp because you'd stubbed your toe two weeks ago and it just wasn't healing.
Now, a year into my own "diabetes journey," mostly what it means to me is that I have no more excuses for not taking the best possible care of myself. And with this latest recurrence of my anxiety disorder (as distinguished from my usual garden-variety anxiety, which is irritating but not disabling), I'm realizing that yeah – everything I can do to be good to myself, is worth doing.
So maybe I will still have a spoonful of ice cream every now and then, because pleasure is the most healing force I can think of. The worst thing about clinical depression – one of the worst things – is that it takes away the ability to feel pleasure, and that just makes everything even harder.
After the ice cream, I will walk on the treadmill, or run, or ride my bike, or possibly even dance around the living room for awhile. Burning up all the extra adrenaline feels good, and it brings my blood sugar way down, too.
About the panic – I had forgotten what a physical experience it is. I only took two of those pills (one on Friday, and one on Saturday), so I know it isn't that. It's just my body, trying to get back to itself. Super-surges of adrenaline in the mornings, and lots of intense muscle tension in weird places, like my arms and stomach and throat. I can feel my muscles twitching and trembling as they try to relax. I'm sleeping better again though, and could concentrate well enough to write a really kick-ass promo piece tonight, and as of right now have gone two whole days without crying. So I think I'm on the mend.
Maybe I should explain about the crying, for those who've never experienced a thing like this. It's not like normal crying, which usually happens for some kind of reason. It's more like ... well, it feels almost like I imagine it might feel to have a seizure. My nervous system just takes over and goes a little crazy for awhile. It's not "because" of anything that's happened, and there's no way to soothe it or comfort it. It just needs to run its course. And it's distressing while it's happening (not only to me but also to anyone who has the misfortune of being around to see it), but I've learned to just let it flow, because I always feel so much better when it's done.
It's weird to write about this in public. It feels so vulnerable ... and I don't want anyone to think there's something "wrong" with me. Even though there obviously is! I guess I'm just putting this out there because it's made a difference to me, especially in this last year, to read about other people's experiences with illness and suffering, and how they made it through – or even just what they're thinking as they're making it through – or not making it – and I feel like being willing to talk about my own experiences is a way of helping to clear away the stigma that makes people feel so desperate and alone when these things are happening in their lives. People need to be able to feel safe talking about this stuff.
P.S. I've had a couple of dreams in the last few nights that have illuminated some possible reasons why the events (actually, the mere contemplation of possible events) of the last month or so have knocked me for such an unexpected and apparently incomprehensible loop. It's kind of disturbing information ... but at least now I'm clear about what I need to be looking at.
Labels: diabetes
2 Comments:
Dream report, please.
I think everyone who has been reading this blog throughout the past year has been enlightened by your experience and by your eloquent telling of it here; thanks for sharing it. You are a beautiful person, tinarama!
Post a Comment
<< Home