If somebody comes into my room and finds a little pile of ash that once was me
This video is the culprit
Marrying young is not the end of my freedom. It means I want to travel and see the world, but with her by my side. It means I still like drinking in bars and dancing in clubs, but stumbling home with her at 2am and eating pizza in our underwear. It means I know that I want to kiss those lips every morning, and every night before bed. If you see marriage as the end of your ‘freedom’, you’re doing it wrong.
People think diabetes is just physical and even then it’s more physical then they can imagine. It’s blood and scars and black freckles on your fingers. It’s bruises on your body and pink marks on your stomach. It’s scratches and burning as insulin enters the fat and saves you life.
And just as it physical it’s mental. A double edged sword. A double wamny. For me, I’d say it’s more a mental battle. It’s telling yourself to keep fighting, to take that needle for the forth time that day. That you can get through it. You can through the depression and the anxiety and the hate you have for a body that’s failed you. That if you can get through today, then that’s another battle you’ve fought and concurred. That it will all get easier. That even though it’s not fair you can overcome it. That there’s hope that tomorrow will be better. And it’s the hope that kills you as it’s not always met.