My Mind and the Lack of a Middle Ground

Hi everyone. It has been a while. Nobody likes to hear excuses for anything, and I am included in that, but I would just like to give you a super brief explanation of my whereabouts. I opened a new business, The Witches Abode, and it sure has kept me busy. I love it though. I get to be creative and work on my craft and interact with amazing people on a daily basis. Everything that I have ever wanted as a small business owner is coming to fruition, and every day I wake up feeling more and more fortunate. I also have been working behind the scenes on a super-secret project which I hope to be announcing within the next month or two. Now, unfortunately, with all of this good in my life, there also needs to be some bad, because there always needs to be some sort of balance. 

One thing that is truly starting to trouble me is I feel like I have never been properly diagnosed when it comes to my mental illness. First, I was diagnosed with depression. Then I was diagnosed with severe depression and bipolar disorder. Then I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, depression, and anxiety. Then, my most recent diagnosis is clinical depression, generalized anxiety disorder, and PTSD. You see, I never thought that bipolar disorder was something that I had because I never really thought that I had manic episodes. I was always just very depressed with suicidal tendencies, but I never went up and down with my emotions. I am starting to realize that maybe I have had manic episodes, but I just never knew what they were.

The past couple of months have been a rollercoaster. I am ashamed to admit that I haven’t been taking my medications, which include Lexapro and Abilify, regularly. I don’t know what it is. I feel like I am starting to feel better so I stop taking them, and then I wonder why I come crashing down. I have started questioning life again. I have started having major anxiety attacks because I feel like I am not doing anything perfectly. I lay on the couch sometimes and list off all of the things that I should be doing but I can’t bring myself to do them. I have thought about self-harming. I haven’t purposely done anything to myself in about a year now, but there have been moments where I was shaking because I wanted to so bad. So instead of hurting myself in a negative way, one night while I couldn’t sleep, I bought a stick and poke tattoo kit. And when that kit arrived in the mail was when I knew something was wrong.

You see, I feel so much pressure that it almost feels indescribable. I am trying to work on The Witches Abode, I am trying to work on my secret project, I am trying to maintain my home and tend to my plethora of animals. I am trying to take care of my husband and try to have a social life that I can be happy with. And I am also trying to take care of myself. Well due to the pressure that I feel and my obvious lack of coping skills, I started to crumble. I became fragile. So instead of hurting myself in a negative way, I started tattooing myself. Then, before I knew it, three weeks went by and I have gained fifteen new tattoos. Fifteen tattoos that I did to myself as an inexperienced tattoo artist. And that is not to mention the three new piercings that I have gotten (by professionals) within the past two weeks. Let’s go back to the tattoos though. Now I am fortunate that I love every single one with the exception of one, and I have already been in contact with my tattoo guy to get that atrocity covered up, but fifteen tattoos in three weeks is worrisome due to what it represents. Each of those fifteen tattoos was done to prevent myself from self-harming. 

I believe that I have been in a manic episode, and I believe that I am finally starting to come down. I have spent money that I should not have spent, I have done things to my body that I probably should have spaced out more, and, to be frank, my sex drive has been even higher than it already is. I just know something is different, and I really think that there is something going on.

I have been talking to my therapist about this, and we have devised a plan to help me with my coping skills. Luckily, I do have a lot of work that I need to focus on, so instead of tattooing myself, I will just work on my business and on my secret project instead. I am behind on my project, so I need to use my time wisely to catch up on that. Also, I have a huge event that I am doing for The Witches Abode in December, and I need to work on that. I also have a new contract as a freelance writer so the assignments will help keep me busy. Luckily, I have work to occupy my mind. 

I think the thing that is scary to me is the fact that I am never just living and enjoying life. I am either so depressed that I can’t leave my bedroom or I am so elated that it doesn’t feel like reality. And when I feel like I am not in reality there is a part of me that tells myself to calm down, but I almost lose control over myself and my actions. It is an odd experience and I feel like a lot of people like feeling manic but I hate it. I hate to not feel control over myself. 

Anyways, I am working towards being more balanced when it comes to my mental illness, and I remain hopeful that one day I can feel somewhat normal if normal even exists.

Feel.

What does it feel like to have a mental illness? 

Every person has a different experience, but here is mine.

Mental illness is a type of monster that wants nothing more than to isolate you, torture you, belittle you, and test you.

Mental illness will make you doubt yourself more than anyone else ever could, causing your own self worth to diminish with every word spoken from your mind. 

Mental illness will keep you up at night. You think about every single thing that has ever happened to you, you think about and play out scenarios that never even happened, and you question every choice that you have ever made.

Mental illness will make you feel like you are in a world of euphoria, where you have never-ending energy and you can take on anything that comes your way. If you wanted to, you could save the world with your love, positivity, and energy. You can spend hours exercising, deep cleaning, calling and texting all of your friends and family, and not feel anything but extraordinary. You could quite literally do anything and everything, and you try to because you feel so good. But then, you crash. You spend eighteen hours in bed sleeping despite your partner trying to wake you up. You ignore phone calls and texts because you don’t have it in you to speak to another soul. When you do wake up, you’re a shell of a human being that just does the bare minimum to keep your body alive because at that moment your spirit is gone. This can last for as little as a day, or even months. You never know. 

Mental illness is either eating too little or too much. 

Mental illness is watching videos at four in the morning on “at home stick and poke tattoos” and considering buying the equipment yourself because you could “easily do that!”

Mental illness is wanting to tell your friends and family that you are sinking into a low but you’re too afraid to tell them because they go through this with you all of the time. Also, they sometimes throw your mental illness in your face when they are displeased with you.

Mental illness is staring at the scars on your body that you gave yourself and hoping with everything that you have that you won’t pick up that blade again.

Mental illness is knowing what is happening to you but not having any control over it.

Mental illness is taking medication and having a therapist because life would be awful without those things. 

Mental illness is relying on animals to bring you a glimmer of happiness and a sense of calm. 

Mental illness is living past memories so vividly that you have to remind yourself that those memories are in the past and you are safe right now.

Mental illness is constantly having to listen to people tell you to “grow up” or “deal with it” or “snap out of it.” 

Mental illness is sobbing in the shower or on the floor of your bedroom because you can’t stop thinking of the worst. 

Mental illness is a curse. It’s a sickness that eats away at you. It is always there, taunting you in the background just so you know that it is still there and can hurt you at any time. 

If you know someone with mental illness, please take it seriously. Ask them what they need. Make them tea, put on their favorite movie, give them their favorite book, make them their favorite food. Do whatever you can to make them feel loved and cared for and valued because when they are in a low they can’t see how incredible they are. The pain is unbearable, and even a tiny bit of effort and love from the people around them could quite literally save their life.

The Real Monster: Anxiety

I have never really been afraid of monsters. I grew up watching Jurrasic Park on repeat, as a child I would play pretend games with imaginary monsters that I would bring to life, and I was always invested in ghost stories. The things that gave me a true fright were things that could become a reality. For example, thunderstorms that triggered a tornado warning would send me into a fit. I would hibernate in the basement clinging onto my dog Daisy in complete hysterics until I knew that the threat was gone and we were going to be safe. When my parents decided to divorce, I was consumed with making sure that my parents were okay. I remember always thinking about them and wondering if they were ever going to find happiness. I was in second grade at the time, but I was so consumed with what my family was feeling that it felt like it was eating away at my young soul. Little did I know that I was already being introduced to one of the scariest monsters to have ever existed: anxiety.

As I have stated many times, clinical depression is something that I have struggled with for as long as I can remember. My mom even told me that she knew something was off with me before I was five years old, but back then mental illness wasn’t really something that was talked about. I remember seeing a school counselor for a short time when my parents decided to divorce, and then many years later going to see my first psychologist. Although it was many years where I wasn’t speaking to a professional about what I was feeling, I always knew something was off about me. As cliche as this is, I literally felt as if I lived in a literal world of darkness. I was consumed by sadness, resentment, and anger. I was constantly isolating, (although that has still not changed) and I never actively sought out friendships. I was content with being on my own overthinking every thought that I have ever had and accepting that feeling the way that I felt was normal. I remember being overly concerned for years about my dad. My mom was happy and in love with my now stepfather, and I wanted that for my dad. I would spend hours a day worrying about my dad and what his and our future looked like, to the point where I would go into a panic. I wanted the world for my dad. I wanted every bit of happiness that the world had to offer to him to be his. I wanted him to find a partner and to fall in love, and I wanted him to enjoy every moment of his life. I would think about these things constantly, driving myself absolutely crazy. So when my dad met my stepmom, I was over the moon with excitement because I felt like everything that I have ever wanted for my dad was happening to him. But then the worry of him finding happiness turned into worry about him losing it, and then I was consumed with worry that his relationship with my stepmom wouldn’t last forever. That constant worry wasn’t warranted though because they were and continue to be a healthy and happy couple, but I just wanted my dads’ happiness to be infinite. Looking back, I can now see that my worry about my dads’ happiness was probably one of the first anxiety-inducing situations that I was apart of, and I wish that it was figured out years ago that anxiety was one of the things that I was feeling.

As I progressed in age I, of course, came into more anxiety-inducing scenarios. One of the more traumatic things that I experienced that I still have trouble with was my sexual assault. Without going into too much detail, let’s just say that I have learned more about that incident the older I have become. Looking back at what happened and after speaking to a couple of professionals about it, I have learned that I was essentially brainwashed, manipulated, and “trained” by this person since I was eleven to be a certain way with him. When the big incident occurred, I immediately broke down. I remember talking to my therapist at the time about it and her wanting to report it for statutory rape, but I wouldn’t let her for reasons that I don’t want to get into. After that happened I blamed myself for years for allowing it to happen. The big incident happened when I was fifteen, and it was just within the past year that I have been able to accept that it wasn’t my fault. I now look at the situation with complete disgust, and I can see it for everything that it was. I will say this though. After seeking out help for coping with what happened it almost makes me feel worse. I feel so violated. I feel like something was stolen from me. Every time I think about the whole situation I want to break down. This incident has a way to pop into my mind at the most inconvenient times, and what sucks about it is that when I think about it I literally feel like I am taken back in time and forced to relive everything that I went through. I can feel what I felt, both mentally and physically, and I feel frozen. My anxiety just completely takes over me, and I feel like I can’t breathe. My heart starts racing, and I need to remind myself that it isn’t happening now, it happened in the past. I would say my sexual assault is one of the biggest reasons why my anxiety is so horrendous.

Although I have always been pretty content with not involving a lot of people in my life, I do feel like my social anxiety just keeps getting worse and worse. I don’t do well with meeting new people, in fact, I have had to have therapy sessions in preparation for meeting new people and for being in groups. I don’t really know what it is, I just get really bad anxiety around new people and big groups of people. I get anxiety while driving, while going to the doctors’ office, and even shopping. Every time I feel like something might be wrong with my animals my anxiety spikes. I feel like my life is controlled by my anxiety, and it makes me feel so fragile. My anxiety is one of the main focuses of my therapy sessions, and I feel with every session that I have I become one step closer to breaking free of my anxieties grasp. 

My anxiety and my depression have this hold on me. Every day I work hard to better myself, but I have my ups and downs. I don’t think I will ever be free from my anxiety, but I do think that with time and hard work I can handle it better. After everything is said and done, your life shouldn’t be controlled by monsters, but by you.

I am Falling

I am falling. 

When it comes to my depression and anxiety, I never know what each day is going to look like. Some days I feel like I can live a functional life, while some days I can barely get out of bed.

I am falling.

Just as I thought everything was starting to look up, I realized that I was starting to come back down.

I am falling.

Internally I am screaming for help as loud as I can, but as desperate as I am to reach out to others I am afraid to burden them.

I am falling.

There is a tiny voice in my head that keeps taunting me. “Here we go again. Brookana is falling into another low.” I want to grab my mind and shake it, I want to scream “SHUT UP” and “LEAVE ME ALONE” but I know whatever I do I won’t be able to quiet the voice. 

I am falling. 

I haven’t cut in a decent amount of time, and the only reason I am writing right now is to distract myself. I see my scars on my thighs, the marks that represent that desperation to feel something, to satisfy my mind. I don’t want any more of these reminders, but the amount of strength that it is taking to not pick up my blade is exhausting. 

I am falling.

I haven’t left my house in three days.

I am falling.

I am isolating.

I am falling.

I am not sleeping.

I am falling.

I wonder what it is like to not have to experience depression and anxiety. Is it as sweet as I imagine it to be? Not having to worry about sinking, not having to worry about bleeding, not having to think about how your own mind is trying to sabotage your life. How freeing it must feel to not have anxiety that dictates what you can and can not do, to have this warden in your own personal prison, to have the power to literally take your breath away and make you feel like you are dying.

I am falling.

I imagine my life is a giant rabbit hole. I keep falling and falling until I can finally grip something and pull myself up, and then out of nowhere I slip and I am falling again. If I hit the ground, that means I am gone, but if I can eventually pull myself up I could finally experience living.

I am falling. 

My cat won’t leave my side. I think he can sense something is wrong.

I am falling.

This time around, I refuse to say that I am fine until I actually feel fine.

I am falling.

I am breathing. With each breath that I inhale and with each movement of my chest reminds me that I have more life to live. 

I am falling.

I need time to work through this.

I am falling.

Just like every other time I sink into a low, I know I will be okay.

I am falling.

Lows- Part Two

When you’re about to go into a low, you know. A couple of days ago I woke up and I felt different. For the past few weeks, I had been feeling so great. I felt happiness, a sense of calm, and I found joy. I attributed my feelings from my marriage being in a really happy, wonderful place as well as getting back into writing. I was sleeping again, and I found a balance to keep my life and all my emotions in line. Then, I woke up one morning, and my sense of security was no longer there.

Anyone who knows me knows that Harry Potter is my all time favorite story. I love everything about it, from the silly moments to the lessons that you can apply to your own life. J.K. Rowling, to me, is the beautiful soul who has helped me get through a lot of undesirable life moments. I have watched and read many of her interviews, and I truly can relate to her. One of the things that has always stuck with me is the symbolism with dementors. Dementors in Harry Potter are the guards that watch over Azkaban, and they basically suck out all of the happiness from within a person. Now it is possible for a witch or wizard to ward against a dementor, but the witch or wizard must be very powerful to succeed. In order to be protected against a dementor one must use a patronus, which is essentially powerful magic that takes the form of an animal to act as a guardian between you and the dementor. Now J.K. Rowling has stated on numerous occasions that she has suffered with depression, and the dementors represent depression. The past couple of days I could feel a dementor lurking by me, and I have been trying to be powerful enough to produce my patronus but I can feel it failing. The light that I had been feeling inside of me is starting to dim, and I can feel my soul starting to detach.

I am starting to not feel anything positive. This is the one thing that I hate about depression because you feel hopeless. Anytime something positive happens I lack the ability to really care, because I feel like something bad is going to happen to balance out the good. Every time I do a simple task, like brushing my hair, I feel myself exerting an immense amount of energy to complete that task. I haven’t even brushed my hair today because I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The reality is, I’m slipping back into a low, and as a result I’m slowly turning in to my empty shell of a person. I’m metamorphosing into a zombie a little more every day, and I can feel it happening but it is almost as if I can’t reverse the process. I am losing my strength, so now I am losing me.

Depression comes along with a lot of really fun sidekicks. Insomnia, fatigue, crying, and overeating are all crowded around me constantly pushing me down. My depression is the main bully, but every bully has their goons. Not sleeping regularly is really starting to fuck with my head. It has only been a couple of days and I am already feeling the repercussions mentally and physically. Depression is a trickle of symptoms. Once you start to feel one of the symptoms, you know the other ones are not too far behind. Every time this happens I try to gear up with all of my armor. I try to channel every ounce of energy to defeat my depression before it fully invades me, but it’s usually successful in taking down my blockades.

I don’t know if everyone who has depression experiences it the same way that I do. With me, it’s not intense right away. It slowly creeps up, with every day more and more of me slipping away into the darkness. At this moment I am feeling my depression, but I am still somewhat functional. I am not having suicidal thoughts, so I am not concerned about that right now. But this is the phase that is kind of scary for me because I know what is about to happen. I know that in a couple of days or in a week I will be on my bedroom floor crying hysterically holding on to my dog. I know that I am going to be in excruciating pain, and I am going to question if I want to be here or not. I know my soul will be completely detached, and knowing that is what my future looks like is terrifying. I know myself and I know my patterns, and I know that I can try to deflect the depression as much as possible but once it starts creeping in there is no going backwards. You’re basically forced to take it in, like you’re the host and your depression is the parasite. The more you wither away the stronger it becomes, and you can feel your armor breaking away.

I am not sharing this with you for pity. I am sharing this because this is my reality. This is something that I deal with on a regular basis, and unfortunately I am being forced to deal with it again. There are so many people out there that have depression, and I feel like they are afraid to talk about it like I was. Because depression is not really talked about, I am afraid that there is a lack of knowledge on what one goes through when they are in the midst of it. I would consider myself successful if I can help everyone understand depression a little bit better, so I am officially inviting everyone into my mind for a better understanding.

I hate mental illness. I hate how it feels like it is entitled enough to invite itself into someones life and take away everything that they are. I hate that it uses torture and pain to get what it wants, to take over you. I especially hate that no matter how many times you overcome it it still comes back for another try to take you away. The best thing you can do is fight it with everything that you have, and constantly tell yourself to stay strong no matter how much strength you lack. Depression is a bully, and bullies never should be given the opportunity to win.

Suicidal Thoughts

***As a warning, this article is about suicidal thoughts and my experience with them.

PROJECT SEMICOLON: https://projectsemicolon.com/

SUICIDE HOTLINE: 1-800-273-8255

Let’s talk about something that most people try to avoid talking about. Let’s talk about something that is affecting a good number of people, but still people don’t want to talk about it. Let’s talk about about something that is a great fear in peoples lives, so it’s not talked about. Let’s talk about suicide.

I can’t speak for other people who have suicidal thoughts, so I think the best thing that I can offer is to give you insight from what I go through. As I have stated in my previous post, “Lows,” I have bipolar disorder and severe depression. I was officially diagnosed back in high school, but it has been something that I have had to deal with for as long as I could remember.

The first psychologist that I was saw was as sweet as could be. I remember feeling like I could instantly open up to her about everything, and I truly felt safe. She had a way of talking to you that felt so maternal, as weird as that may sound, but it was always just so warm in her office. We would talk about my parents divorce, my misophonia, my goals, my fears, everything. I would look forward to seeing her, because I knew I finally could unload everything that I had been holding in. My first suicidal “event” happened one night after seeing her. I had not been feeling well mentally for a couple of weeks, and it was one of the things where you could feel your soul separate itself from your body. When I get like that, I am aware of what is happening around me, I know who I am, and I know the people that I love, but I feel like a zombie. Everything becomes hazy. I feel like I am an empty shell, and there is nothing to me anymore. I thought about death off and on before that night, but I never thought I would ever come close to doing anything. My mom and I were in the kitchen, and I literally felt as though I were already dead. My physical body was here, participating in life, but my soul, the thing that makes me me, was nowhere to be found. The medicine cabinet was in the kitchen, and I just felt drawn to those pills. I stared at that cabinet for what felt like hours, thinking about what it would  be like to take everything. Would it be painful? How much would I have to take? How long would it take? Is this what I want? Those were just a few thoughts that were going through my head. After sitting there, I got up, went to the computer, and wrote an email to my psychologist. I told her what I was feeling, what I wanted to do, and that I was scared but I felt like I couldn’t go through this anymore. After I sent it, I didn’t feel sad, angry, or relieved. I didn’t feel anything. I think I went up to my room after that, and I laid down on my bed. The pills were still on my mind. Death was still on my mind. I don’t know how much time passed from the moment I sent the email to when my mom came in my room. She looked worried. She had just gotten off the phone with my psychologist, and wanted to check on me. It was decided that I would not be attending school the next day, and that I needed to go see a doctor. I felt like I didn’t sleep at all that night. It felt like every ten minutes my mom would come in my room and put her finger underneath my nose to check if I was still breathing. I pretended as though I was asleep, but I knew she was there every time she came in. The following morning my mom had informed me that she had spoken to my endocrinologist and he wanted me to be taken to a hospital immediately. So my mom, step-dad, and I went to a hospital and went into a little room and waited for a doctor to come speak to us. When someone eventually did come in, they started asking questions about what I was going through, and then they started talking about how while I was there I would still be able to work on my schoolwork. That was when my mom freaked out a little bit. She was under the impression that we were just going to talk to someone to see if I could get more help, she did not want me to be admitted. So we got up and left.

The next few years was a giant cycle. For a couple of months I would be okay, just skating on through life like anyone else, but then, just like clockwork, my soul would detach. Junior year of high school was when I officially had to be admitted to the hospital. This time it was my psychiatrist that wanted me to be admitted, so for six days I was a patient at a psychiatric hospital in Rockford Illinois. It was hands down one of the worst experiences of my life. I was terrified every second that I was there, to the point where every time my family came to visit me I would be crying hysterically for them to take me home. I wasn’t getting help, I wasn’t feeling any better, I just felt like I was in prison. I couldn’t bear to be in that place for much longer, so I learned how to be manipulative so I could convince them that I was fine. In hindsight, I should have been there a lot longer than six days. But it was an environment that I did not feel safe or comfortable in, so it was doing more harm than good.

I never have been powerful enough to just will the suicidal thoughts and depression away, and I know that I will never be. Mental illness is a part of me, just like my diabetes. I do what I can to cope with it, to control it to the best of my abilities, and to get through it, but every time I’m in low, it’s just a waiting game to see  how long it will last this time. My most recent low happened a couple of months ago, and it took a lot out of me. If I were to be honest, I think that was the closest that I came to doing something since the first time with the pills. I think the thing that made me reconsider was when I was crying on the floor and my dog came up next to me. I could feel her weight on me while she was licking my tears away, and it felt so comforting. I try to distract myself as much as I can when I’m having my thoughts. That particular night I cleaned and scrubbed every square inch of my apartment. Then, when there was nothing else left to clean, I sat on my bedroom floor, put on my headphones, turned on Falling in Reverse, and just held on to my dog. My dog, Luna, is incredibly intuitive, and she always knows when something is wrong with me. We have such an amazing bond, and I really think that she gives me strength when I am in a low.

Every person has their own way with handling things. My way is the right way for me, but it’s not going to be the right way for everyone. For me, when I am in a low, I know how to mask the pain that I am feeling. I guarantee that if I didn’t tell people what I go through then no one would ever know. But after all of these years, I’m sick of hiding this illness like it’s a shameful secret. I shouldn’t need to feel ashamed or suppressed because of the fear of how others would react. I have had people tell me that I am crazy, that I need to just get over it, and that I am dragging other people down with me. But the thing is, I am not crazy. I work hard every day to cope with my mental health. And the absolute LAST thing that I want to do is drag people down with me. I know that this is my battle, hell I have been battling this for most of my life, but every time I come out of a low and I am still alive and breathing, I feel as though I just added another piece of armor to myself. A little less than a year ago I added something to my body to help me when I am in a low. I got a semicolon tattoo, and every time that I am in a low I hold on to it to help me realize that my life doesn’t need to end yet. The semicolon tattoo is actually from a project called “Project Semicolon.” It is to bring awareness to mental health and suicide. I will set up a link to their website, and you should really take a look at it.

One of the last things that I want to say in this article is actually a favor that I am going to ask of all of you. When someone is in a low and they come to you for help, please don’t turn your back on them. If they are expressing to you that they are feeling suicidal and you try to change the subject or avoid it because you are uncomfortable, you are not only doing an injustice to them but also being incredibly selfish. You might feel uncomfortable with the topic, but imagine the pain that they are feeling. It takes a lot of courage to realize how bad of a place you are in and to ask for help, so please, just do your best and help them. Hold them. Tell them that you love them. Give them strength. Make them see their worth. Please don’t ignore their pain.

I hope I gave some sort of insight to what it feels like to be in a low. Just remember this: just because you may not be able to see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there.

PROJECT SEMICOLON: https://projectsemicolon.com/

SUICIDE HOTLINE: 1-800-273-8255

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Diabetes-Part Two

Being a new diabetic is challenging for all parties involved. I was nine when I was diagnosed with type one diabetes, so my parents were responsible for making sure that I was getting the correct dosages of insulin, making sure that my blood sugar was staying in the correct range, and just making sure that this life-altering change would find balance in our lives the easiest way possible. For the first year after my diagnosis, learning that balance between food, exercise, and every day life was not an easy feat. We caught on pretty quickly that even if I gave myself a shot for foods like pizza and pasta that my blood sugar would still spike. We learned that if I was going to engage in a lot of physical activity to factor that into how much insulin I was going to administer to myself, and we also learned that even doctors sometimes don’t really know what they are doing.

I just remember my first endocrinologist being nice and patient, but little did we know he didn’t really have any experience with juvenile diabetics. My a1c (average blood sugar level for the past three months) stayed in the eights for a while, and at one point it even went a little over nine. Then, about a year after I was diagnosed, I became sick. I just remember feeling extremely nauseous and out of it, and that was when I was sent to the hospital and admitted to the ICU for DKA. DKA occurs when ones blood sugar stays high for too long, causing ketones to be present in blood. I don’t really remember that much about that incident, but I do know that I went into DKA because my insulin to carb ratios were way off, and everything had to be adjusted. After spending a week in the hospital, we found a new doctor, and things started to look better.

When you are growing up as a type one diabetic, things become way more complicated. Sleepovers become hectic because you need to make sure that you have all of your supplies and that your blood sugar stays leveled, you’re in and out of the nurses office all day at school, and you are poked with needles all of the time. It is just not a typical way for a kid to grow up. But in a weird way, even though I hated doing all of those things, I used to like being diabetic when I was younger. I think it was because of the added attention that I received, it made me feel different but in a good way. If you were to ask me now if I like being diabetic it would be a different story, but back then I liked it.

A really interesting part of my diabetes journey is that I am not the only one in my immediate family to have it. Every so often my mom, step-dad, and brother would test their blood sugar just to see if they were still healthy. Then one night we tested my brothers blood, and unfortunately his sugar was high. My mom took him straight to the hospital where he was officially diagnosed with type one diabetes, and that was when things became strange. You see, my brother and I are the only ones on  both sides of our family to have diabetes, and apparently that is very rare. When we were younger, we both did have staph infections, and our doctors best guess is that the infection went after the weakest organ, which happened to be our pancreases. No one will ever really know for sure if that is the true cause of our diabetes, but based on our history that is the closest scenario that they could come to an explanation.

There is a difference between being a child with type one diabetes and being an adult with type one diabetes. When I was younger, I knew that my medicine and supplies were expensive, but you really don’t understand until you are paying for everything on your own. The cost of living with diabetes is exorbitant, and every year the cost to be able to be alive just keeps going up. The first of January is my least favorite day of the year, because that is when my deductible resets and for a couple of months money is tight. I’m going to break down a small list of expenses so you can get a better understanding of the cost.

  1. Insulin (Humalog) – $278 every seven to ten days
  2. Insulin pump supplies – $500 – $800 every three months
  3. Endocrinologist appointments – $60 every three months
  4. Blood work – $450 every three to six months
  5. Test strips – $100 every month

How is this acceptable? I have been on diabetes forums where I have read about people who are having to choose between buying groceries and insulin. Or paying bills or buying insulin. I remember there was one woman who didn’t have a penny to her name and said that she was on her deathbed because she couldn’t afford to pay for her insulin or care. Is this the world that we live in now? Where the corporations who manufacture and sell these life saving medications are more interested in making a considerable profit rather than allowing people to live? It absolutely disgusts me, and the people who run those companies may have deeper pockets, but the price that they had to pay for those pockets came at the cost of strangers blood.

Adjusting from being a child living with type one diabetes to being an adult can an easier transition if you do it correctly. When I was about sixteen I started taking myself to my own appointments. When I was eighteen I started calling in and picking up my own insulin, and when I was twenty I started paying for my own care. You don’t realize how much work it takes to be in charge of your own well-being, but if you can have a smooth transition it makes all of the difference.

When it comes to diabetes, everyone is on their own path and journey. I have talked to so many different diabetics and we all have swapped our stories. I have spoken with people whose a1c has never been below ten, I have spoken with people who decided they hated their insulin pump and switched back to manual injections, and I have spoken with people  who only see their endocrinologist one time a year. Everyone is different with how they manage their diabetes, and it is always so fascinating to be able to talk to a fellow diabetic and know that you’re not alone.

Diabetes is a journey that can be excruciating in every way possible. You can become resentful of the body that has betrayed you, and it can lead you into a negative mindset that could affect your health. Most diabetics that I have spoken with, including myself, have gone through that phase. The most important thing is to have a support system and to have an excellent endocrinologist, because those two factors will make all the difference.

For now, type one diabetes has not found a cure. But it is also not a death sentence. Acclimating to this life is challenging at first, but within time, it will become your new norm.