I'm about to get a little personal here. One year ago, I started experiencing relentless upper belly pain and vomiting. Dr. Google thought it might be gall stones, so I went to urgent care. Urgent care turned around and told me to go straight to the ER. So I did. 1/

It was a quiet Sunday morning. They saw me quickly, did some scans and tests and told me it was prob gall stones but it wasn't an emergency and I could go home and make an outpatient appt. Great. Only then they kept telling me they needed to "re-check" my blood. 2/

And they did that several times until it was, like, midnight. At that point, they told me not only could I not go home, but I had to be admitted to the cardiac ICU. I was in diabetic ketoacidosis. I did not know I was diabetic. In crude terms, my blood was turning into acid. 3/

They hooked me up to a million machines and monitors and an insulin drip and oxygen and I dont even know what else. They inserted a picc line. They came in every single hour to prick my finger and test my blood sugar. They told me I was in danger of dying. 4/

I had never spent the night in a hospital before and suddenly I was in the ICU being told I was in a life-threatening situation. And my first emotion after fear? Humiliation. I was so ashamed to be diagnosed with diabetes. Diabetes has always been held out as WORST CASE. 5/

Every diet article in women's magazines, every local news story showing b-roll of overweight torsos, everything screamed LOSE WEIGHT OR YOU WILL GET DIABETES. Even public health school used it as the perennial example of the biggest drain on the US health system. 6/

And I thought - I failed. I have struggled with weight my entire life and this was confirmation that I failed at being a skinny, healthy person. I was the example of what not to do, how being fat will make you a failure and a burden on the system. 7/

And I was deeply, deeply ashamed of that. To the point that I didn't want to tell my immediate family. I hid it from my friends. I stayed in the ICU for four days just struggling with how humiliated I was and how disappointing I was. 8/

I went home laden with new meds. I had to learn how to stick myself with multiple needles multiple times a day. I was overwhelmed and ashamed and angry and I felt... worthless. No, I felt worse than worthless - I felt like a lost cause. I felt like giving up. 9/

But I didn't. I took my meds, I stuck my needles, I cried daily. I started severely restricting my calorie intake and lost a lot of weight. I started working out 4x a week. My numbers got better, everything on paper was great. I started telling friends the truth. 10/

I did that for 8 months. I got used to the needles, I got better at being nice to myself. But then... quarantine. I couldn't go to the gym. I lost control of my very restrictive eating. My numbers were no longer great. And I again thought... I deserve this. 11/

I failed AGAIN at being a skinny, healthy person. I don't deserve to be healthy. I'm not worth it. And frankly, that's where I am right now. I'm trying to be food to myself, I'm trying to lose weight, I'm trying to be a "good" patient. But I'm not doing a very good job. 12/

And I struggle with that every day. Objectively, I know I'm not a moral failure for having this disease, but my head doesn't always hear that. I'm still ashamed, even though I'm open about it. I'm trying. I'm fallible. I hoped a year ago that I would be perfect by now. 13/

But I'm not. I won't be. I don't know if I will ever get over the shame or if I will just learn to live with it. Talking this openly is a start. So here I am. 14/The End