I have never had trouble telling people about the facts of diabetes. Objectively describing the biological processes giving rise to diabetes and the measures necessary to control it are safe. It requires neither an emotional response from my listener nor a revelation of my innermost thoughts and feelings. In any event, until recently, I would have been unable to accurately describe my personal experience of diabetes.

One of the most challenging processes I have experienced of late is the identification of the emotions I experience in relation to the fact of having diabetes and its daily maintenance. It has been quite a shock for me to recognise that I despise having diabetes. I have never really admitted this before, always putting on a ‘brave face’.  It’s frightening though, because it won’t get better.  How can I possibly live with something which I so passionately resent?

The realisation came over me, very clearly, a few months ago, while visiting my endocrinologist. As I entered her office and sat down, a wave of depression drenched any strength I had reserved to feign contentment with my lot. I was close to tears. My voice became monotone. I answered questions, but I didn’t ask any. I told my doctor that I’d lower my evening protaphane, while not believing for a second that it would make much difference.  I wanted to leave the doctor’s office as I had sometimes left an exam room – having tried my best, not having written the best answer, but free from the burden of exam pressure, knowing there was nothing else I could do now.  But I couldn’t. With diabetes, there will always be something else I can do, or stop doing, to better manage my condition.

I despise the constancy of diabetes. It will never go away, no matter how well controlled. I can never have a day off. ‘Never’ is a daunting and tiring concept. I can’t afford to be slack. If I decide to eat what I like and go without insulin, I’ll feel sick. And I’ll feel guilty.

Guilt is a huge part of my life. My diabetes is not well controlled, so I feel guilty. What have I done wrong? I’ve let my doctor down. I’m weak. I could have said ‘no’ to chocolate, but I didn’t. Why didn’t I say ‘no’? Because I resent having diabetes and wanted to compensate myself for having to live with it. So now I know what I’ve done wrong. But I feel powerless to stop doing it and I despair at the thought of not being able to enjoy something so simple. I feel worse and more hopeless, so I eat more chocolate and I feel guilty. So the cycle continues.

I want the control taken out of my hands. I want someone to put me in hospital, sort out how much insulin I should be having, devise a good eating plan for me and send me home to deal with the more interesting and time-worthy aspects of my life. I don’t want the responsibility of diabetes anymore, if I ever did. Life’s complicated enough without it.

I am still very much in the process of self-revelation. If you met me, you wouldn’t have any idea of the things I’ve talked about here. You’d know I had diabetes, but you would most likely see a well-adjusted young professional with much to be thankful for. Generally life is good and I appreciate that. But it’s also a wonderful relief to have given myself permission to stop being stoic. Of course I’ll continue to manage my diabetes. I have no choice. But recognising that I don’t have to and don’t, in fact, like it, somehow makes it easier to bear. It’s less tiring than pretending I feel fine.