diabeticdancer

I take the lid off my needle,
and look at the insulin inside.
Just,
stare at it.
Isn’t it funny, how this clear, sterile,
hospital smelling liquid is the key
to my survival? How it saves my life everyday and stops my body from
killing itself.
How fascinating.
How simple. How easy.

And then my mind takes me to
somewhere darker. How this
liquid has now turned into a
weapon. How a little too much
insulin could be the key to
ending it all.
How simple. How easy.

I look down at my needle
and see my greatest enemy.
And the most heartbreaking
contradiction.
I see,
both life and death.
This plastic, disposable needle
represents everything I hate about
myself, all the pain and anger.
It represents my battles and
my burdens.
If only I could dispose of them
as easy as I do my needles.
How simple. How easy.

If you want honesty. (via myrealityofdiabetes)