All Over the Place.

Good day, lovelies! I'm sorry for the severe lack of posting and comment-age. Things are... interesting lately so I've been absent, but I pinky swear that I've been reading every single one of your posts. And pinky swears are sacred. So I'll give you a snippet of what's been been going down.

My mom is a type 1 diabetic and has been since her early twenties. Her diabetes has played a big part in my life but it's way to complicated to get into. I'll spare you guys the pain of reading about it and save that for therapy! But anyways, last Tuesday (the 26th?) she had a severe hypoglycemic episode. Like a normal glucose level is between 70 and 140. Her blood sugar meter wouldn't even register the number. It was like, "BELOW TWENTY. Have fun! Hope you don't die!" Those obviously weren't it's exact words but you get the gist. I managed to "fix it" on my own, but then this Monday it happened again. Right down to the below twenty reading. Except this time my mom was ten times more obstinate and resistant, slurring that her blood sugar wasn't low, that it was four hundred. So my sister and I ended up deciding to phone 911 because she was too far gone. As soon as the paramedics arrived I felt like calling them had been a mistake. My mom was being totally stubborn and defiant, refusing a sugar IV or to go to the hospital for monitoring. Even one she was fully conscious and lucid she would not agree to go, no matter how much the medics pushed. It was sort of ironic to watch her filling out the AMA papers. 

And my treatment team wonders where I get my defiance from. 

The medic kept saying to her that with the way her blood sugar was swinging it very easily could plummet again in the middle of the night. He kept saying over and over, "You could drop to a blood sugar below ten at two in the morning and you will die. Your daughters will come to wake you up in the morning and you will be dead." And she still wouldn't go. By the time the medics left I was terrified, inches away from begging her, "Please, just let them take you." The other medic was growing really frustrated and finally snapped, "Let's just go. She has good daughters. They are good at their jobs." And they were gone.

One day you will do things for me that you hate. That is what it means to be family.

- Jonathan Safran Foer

What he said is true. This is my job and has been my whole life. Funny thing is, I don't remember filling out an application. I didn't ask for it. I didn't want it. And it's not a job that I can quit. Every time I hear an ambulance I worry that it's for her. I'm afraid to leave her alone, that she'll get low blood sugar and be by herself. I've injected more oranges than I can count and can wield a syringe with the best of them. Yet how can I get angry at her? She didn't choose to have this disease. Shouldn't I of all people understand that because of my eating disorder? I know I'm angry, but it doesn't feel safe or fair to direct it at her. So I turn it all on myself. I cut that night. Whether I was feeling something and did it to numb out or was totally disconnected and self harmed in order to feel, I don't know. I'm constantly standing on the edge of a precipice overlooking the "experience emotions ocean," and at the last second keep shrinking back. And because I never fully let myself feel, the emotions never resolve or go away. There's no beginning, middle and end. They just stay, a dull and constant ache.

There were things I wanted to tell him. But I knew they would hurt him. So I buried them, and let them hurt me.

- Jonathan Safran Foer

Lately, scary and shameful as it is to admit, I've been fantasizing about being emaciated again. Because if I was a walking corpse I wouldn't be responsible for or have to take care of anyone. When I was younger, while walking down the street I would wish for someone to see my sad face and recognize the pain I was in, that something was wrong and rescue or save me. And now I'm once again seeing me looking skeletal as a silent scream for help. Imagining someone spiriting me away and taking care of me. In my gut though I know that whittling down my body to nothing isn't going to fix anything. If I want to be rescued, I have to do it myself. 

Please don't think I'm posting this because I want sympathy or a bunch of "Poor you," comments. I can throw myself an excellent pity party, complete with balloons and streamers. I guess I just needed to get this off my chest, and hope you guys don't mind reading about it. Since I hate to just wallow in doom and gloom, here's a little random question to ponder: If you could be the gum stuck to any person's shoe, who would you pick? I might choose the "Man vs. Food" guy. Because he travels all over, plus he probably chews a lot of gum after his meals on the show, so maybe I'd have a lot of sticky friends stuck on the shoe with me. How about you?