There is a lot to be said for what we PWDs put ourselves through. Despite our best effort to be “normal,” we play with a new deck of cards every single day.
Sometimes it’s just too hard to take it and we break down. Like yesterday, for example.
I reached the end of my rope and I just cried and screamed in frustration because no matter how many measuring cups I use to calculate my food, or no matter what I eat, or no matter what test I run, I don’t fit “the norm.” My blood sugars don’t want to be a part of the statistic. Science dictates that I should one thing, when actually, I do the opposite. Frustrating me, my family, and my doctors.
The problem is that when/if I bring a child into the picture, I have to be as close to the norm as possible. If not better. So in addition to having the guilt of my own well being over my head, I have the guilt of not being good enough for a future child.
Trust me, I have other things on my plate this week that pissed me off to no end, so this wasn’t a random “woe is me and diabetes” breakdown. It was an “oh God, why does life keep throwing me curveballs at my chest” breakdown. Generally, I try to keep my breakdowns into larger packages, therefore they are somehow more therapeutic when I spill my guts.