This morning was the worst I’ve had in a while.
You see, my husband and I are staying at my sister’s place for a few weeks, until we move on Friday, and it’s about a 30 minute drive from his job (he works for our university). Some days I will come with him and job hunt while he’s working and then we’ll drive back together.
Lately, though, all my prospects have fallen through. I’m holding on to a thread of hope: Curves. This exercise facility is my last hope! They are supposed to call me today to confirm if I have the job or not. Nevertheless, I came with Jared to job hunt again.
This morning I woke up with low blood sugar. I was low and delirious. I was confused and frantic to get ready. I really needed a shower, but there was no time. With the rush to get in the car, I forgot my laptop. So I guess I’ll just use the school’s computers to make up a new resume. I showered at the gym on campus.
I cried the whole way over here in the car, poor Jared. Those kind of lows make me so emotional, it’s so horrible. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry for a good 30 minutes. I’m sorry that my new husband has to see this, and it makes me so sorry for him because I know that it’s hard on him to see me like that.
On days like these, I wish I had a person who’s diabetic and has experience with lows to empathize with. I don’t want to get sympathies and “It’s okay”‘s because they really don’t get it. They DON’T understand the emotional meltdowns, or the feeling of not being able to move when you want to. They most definitely don’t understand the pitiful feeling of helplessness. It’s a feeling that can’t be honestly expressed through words of any kind. It’s an emotionally tormenting hell.
It’s hard to find a mere mortal who has gone through these things and wants to talk about them. I know that you’re out there, you lone diabetics. You carry those feelings deep within yourselves. I might have even met someone with that criteria, but I will never know; these feelings are hidden. They’re right under the surface, and magnified when you’re brought down low. They’re only unlocked in that 30 minute ascent to a new place, where they’ll be gagged again, muffled, canned, stifled, restrained, but it’s not forgotten.
The book above is the best children’s book of all time. It inspires me as an adult. Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney