Processing Errors

I’m going to put a warning up here for strong language. I don’t know that I’ve ever used language in a post, but this is a post that is coming straight from my emotions. It’s going to be raw.

I don’t know if I’ll publish this post or not, because it’s full of personal things. But I know that I desperately need the catharsis of writing right now. I’ve been putting off writing this post because I don’t want to have a breakdown on a day when I can’t afford to completely lose it.

But enough rambling. Let’s go.

Thursday. April 5th. I’m at work. No wait, let’s back up.

Thursday. April 5th. I’m at home. Not yet time for work but getting close. I’m basically ready to go and I’m chowing down on Oreos.

This is the part of the story where, as I write, I’m starting to crack. The tears are already coming. Because of those damn Oreos. You know when you eat more cookies than any sane person should? You don’t usually have to fess up to that. That’s usually something you can be sneaky about.

But it wasn’t that day. I thought I could sneak those. I didn’t realize that those fucking Oreos were going to put me in the Emergency Room a few hours later.

I go to work. We are moving books at work. The non-fic books, so plenty of heavy tomes. We’re supposed to allign the edges of the books with the edges of the shelves as we move them. Later, my coworkers notice that, even before the inciting incident that kicks everything off, my books had at some point stopped being alligned and the spines were in fact zigzagging. A sign that my brain had already started to be affected by the Oreos, that I already wasn’t feeling well.

We get over to the cookbooks. Ironically, the special diets ones, like gluten free and diabetic. I move books to the book cart so they can be moved to the other side of the room. I’ve got the cart almost full and I put some on the bottom shelf of the cart. When I stand up, I see stars, flashes of yellow light in my vision.

I almost laughed it off. I was going to. I make a joke to my coworker. She suddenly gets serious and tells me I’m done moving books, go sit down, drink water, eat either her honey roasted peanuts or fruity cheerios (because she thought it was I need protein or sugar, which is good logic).

I get a headache. I stand up to get Tylenol and find out I’m dizzy. One of my coworkers during this time hands me a couple of pieces of paper for ordering t-shirts that I couldn’t make sense of (still not sure if I could now, but I just remembered that).

Another coworker gets out of her meeting and finds out what happened to me and asks if I want her to go get her blood sugar meter and check. I never would have thought that my headache, dizzy, stars were blood sugar related but yes, because I’m not sure that any of this is normal.

My blood sugar was dangerously high.

Damn Oreos.

My parents were not even in the state. My grandmother was here with me and my siblings in case of emergency (which we absolutely did not expect to be mine). I call her. I try to call Mom. I try to call my sister. In the midst of phone tag, my coworkers are discussing taking me to the ER and I’m starting to lose it as it hits me that this is AT WORK and MY PARENTS AREN’T EVEN IN INDIANA and I AM FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES GOING TO DIE.

i’m losing it as I type this. i moved my stuff upstairs so i could openly cry which is something i’ve not really been able to do since this happened and fuck it all i need to so bad. fuck it ALL

obviously i’m not dead. i didn’t actually die. and thank God for it. thank God for putting me in that job with those specific coworkers, who knew what to do.

but i do have diabetes

i don’t want anyone’s sympathy actually no, scratch that. i want more than sympathy. i want to know that it’s okay to complain about it. that i don’t have to be happy all the time that it’s not selfish and upsetting to you if i can vent every once in a while. i want to also know that no one believes that this is my fault.

because i am fat. i am overweight. those oreos were the tip of the fucking iceberg and i feel like this is all somehow my fault. like i could’ve somehow prevented it.

and maybe that’s not true. because i have several family members who are diabetic.

but i don’t want anyone at all to take one look at me with the knowledge i have diabetes and say “well, of course you do”.

i’m in the middle of a learning curve. i’m trying to figure out what makes my blood sugar high and what doesn’t. having anyone judge me right now or even seem like they’re mad at me… it’s about reduced me to tears every damn time. because i hate this and i hate that i have to watch it and i hate that my instant thought is if their tone sounds slightly preturbed, they are mad at me and i didn’t mean to send my blood sugar up I thought it was okay.

i’m taking medication for my blood sugar. i’m trying to exercise and eat in a way that works for me. i’m trying to be okay. i’m trying not to let this condition define me. because it shouldn’t. I am not a diabetic. I am a child of God, a writer, a nerd, a YouTuber, a Minecrafter, a kind and intelligent woman… who has diabetes.

But how do you keep a condition from defining you when it kinda rules your life? When it becomes something you have to schedule the rest of your life around?

And at what point do you stop being traumatized?

At what point can I allow myself to cry? At what point is it okay for me to cry? And I know people are going to say I can cry and it’s okay, let it all out, but they are at the same time trying to comfort me and that makes me stop crying. Even now, I have dried my tears because I have three of my sisters in here as I write and the ugly crying that started when I was talking about needing to cry is gone.

I also don’t want them asking me what’s wrong because i don’t fucking know. i had a brush with death over a week ago and i’m still not over it. i’m scared of people judging me.

i’m not upset about having diabetes. it’s not fun, but it doesn’t upset me.

i’m upset because of how i got there and because of the assumptions and judgements that come with it.

The song that keeps running through my head as i process all this in the past few days is I’m Not Okay by My Chemical Romance. It’s only explicit at the end when the lead singer says in the last 15 seconds or so “I’m not o-fucking-kay”.

I feel the same. Just not about a breakup.

Kate out.

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