Dawn Is Me

I am a diabetic.

I didn’t know this until late last week. I’ve been quietly freaking out ever since.

It’s kind of weird. I came home and told my loving family and asked them to help me out by taking over their own cooking until I figured out my own dietary needs. They rose to the occasion and congratulated me for being so okay with it all.

And I said to them, “I am not okay. I am not at all okay.”

Only, I don’t look like I’m not okay. I don’t act like I’m not okay, either.

In some ways, I suppose that makes me a pain in the keester, doesn’t it?

Damn you, Dawn! How the hell am I supposed to comfort you when you stand there, calm and collected, instead of going to pieces?

Yeah, well, it sucks to be you.

Sometimes, I need comfort. This is not one of those times. Deal with it.

And here is how you can tell that I am absolutely not okay: even though I’m not ranting or railing or wailing, I’m also having a hard time thinking (which makes it hard to get any work done).

I am not expecting to write my newsletter with my normal brilliance this week.

Now, here’s the good news: this is Type II diabetes, which means I have a chance to get my blood sugar under control without having to resort to insulin shots. It just so happens that getting my blood sugar under control will coincide nicely with another of my immediate goals, which is to loose a bunch of weight.

I’ve already got a good start on that, as a matter of fact.

I only wasted about 15 minutes feeling like my world was coming to an end and I was dying and a bunch of other silliness like that. But it’s still there — the fear … of what, I’m not sure.

It wouldn’t be too difficult to let it settle on my shoulders and slowly crush me.

That is my fight right now.