I can't write it. It's still all true. I'm almost 20 kgs down in 4 and a half months. That's not nothing. I'm eating as healthfully as a person can eat. I believe that. Without resorting to fads or extremes, I am taking care of my body. Filling it with whole, delicious, nutritious REAL food. The weight loss is slowing. But that's ok. I'm not even trying to convince myself of that. I'm solid there. It's ok if this weight takes a year or more to lose. It took 25 years to put it on. I'm ok with it taking a year or two to come off. I believe it's more likely to stay off that way.
But right now, I'm not ok. My blood sugars are rising by the week. I'm 99% certain that at my next appointment, I'm going to be put back on Short Acting Insulin (which I was able to give up only 6 weeks into this lifestyle change).
I can't help but feel I'm failing. And I feel stupid. I went to an appointment with a nurse not 2 months ago. I told her I understood I'd never not be diabetic. That the best I could hope for was to be insulin free. Just tablet controlled. She shook her head and insisted it was do-able. That I was absolutely doing exactly the right things to realistically become diabetes free.
I was stupid. I believed her. Now 6 weeks later, I'm about to be back ON insulin. And I honestly don't know how to avoid it.
I bought my numbers back down to optimal this week. But I did it by eating next to nothing. A small (Very Small) bowl of home made raw muesli, with almonds. So protein at that meal, and a little light milk. Not skim. Not full fat. The in-between compromise (full fat has a lower GI, but too much fat. Skim isn't as good for me, especially as someone who's pain/arthritis/inflammation leaves me unable to do any conditioning, the Drs and dieticians are at least agreed I need to stay on dairy).
Lunch has been an apple. Dinner a salad, with some chicken. Almost completely fat free chicken (so no skin, and no fat at all added to it). I allow myself 2-3 cups of tea a day. I've given up coffee again.
That's it. Nothing else. They told me to stop the muesli bars (even the 97% fat free ones that were my treat if I was out). The diabetes educator wants me to give up the yoghurt (my 'dessert treat' when I'm feeling like I need a little pick me up, like spoiling myself. Because this is how I spoil myself now. Not chocolate. Not cake. Not chips. Not alcohol. Low fat yoghurt with berries). She said I have to give up the Muesli even though it almost always brings my blood sugar DOWN (I was so careful about what I put in this muesli, making sure it was the lowest GI food I could eat for breakfast).
So I stop eating, basically. And I'm dizzy. Hungry. Weepy. And yay. My blood sugars went down. I finally hit rock bottom last night and when Joel bought Indian take away, I had some. I had 2 spoons (just normal dessert spoons) of chicken and 3 dessert spoons of rice. Basmati. I had naan bread. It was a decision. I consciously chose to have it. To allow myself a night 'off'. Not with portion sizes. Still a tiny amount of food. But I let myself eat it and enjoy it.
I woke up this morning with a 14.5. Officially the highest BGL I've had since the first week of August when this all started. (And to prove my point about the muesli - the post breakfast BGL, traditionally my highest, was 9. 5.5 points lower than my fasting BSL).
I knew that the naan bread was going to kick my fasting read up. I didn't for a moment believe it could put it that high though.
So today, the crash. I'm not feeling guilty for eating. I don't think it was unreasonable to have a night off. I believe most people have far more nights off than I do. This is just my second since I started (2 months ago I ate some spring rolls, oven baked).
But I'm failing. I feel like I'm failing at every single aspect of my life. My pain is HIGH. I mean, really, really high. I'm all out of spoons by the time 9 o'clock rolls around. I'm snapping at Joel. Today we had a fight. It was ridiculous. He asked a question. I took it as a passive aggressive dig at me. From Joel, who never acts that way. I exploded.
Locked myself in the bedroom and turned the music up. UP. He and the boys headed to the beach. I cried. For an hour.
I dragged myself out of bed (getting harder and harder to do now. I am agoraphobic again). Did the dishes and put on a pot to simmer. I was going to do dinner early. For once, be organised when dinner time came and Joel walking-on-eggshells asks me if I had anything in mind for dinner tonight.
I was dizzy so I came to lie down. 2 hours later, I couldnt' work out what the smell was, and why my eyes were watering and I was coughing. It took me 30 minutes to click. I raced out and I'd say I wasn't that far off burning the kitchen down. That pot is dead. It's the second stock pot in a month. I went 15 years without ever burning a dish (Ok. Lie. There was one - but a couple of weeks after you're married, sex is a perfectly good reason to let dinner burn, right?).
I'm trying to wean myself off the Oxy, since the GP won't. He's happy for this to take months more. I'm not. But it's going to hell. I'm having panic attacks. Not full-blown scratching my skin raw. I just feel like for the past 8 weeks I have been at a level of high-anxiety. For 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. 8 weeks now. It doesn't go away.
For the first time in more than a year, I considered downing a bottle of Valium. It's sitting in front of me where it has been for an hour. Just sitting there. I know I won't take them (I took one). I know I won't leave them. I don't want to leave them.
I want to leave me.
I'm not ok. I'm not even nearly, not even a little bit ok.
