A Motorcycle With Flames On It

So, I’m depressed. It’s no secret. In particular, I’ve developed a lot of hatred for myself since all this autoimmune stuff hit me.

I’ll stop you right there. Yes, I know it’s not my fault. That’s not really the issue.

I get the advice from Professionals that I should focus on doing things that are good for myself, on being kind to myself. This seems like a particularly hard thing to do as a diabetic, and I’m sure that’s something that most of you in this community can relate to. Every time I choke some food down it makes my blood sugar go up, which is killing me. So I take insulin, which also has the potential to kill me. Hmmm, maybe I should stay away from the carbohydrates and get my calories from …fat? Oops, the majority of diabetics die of heart attacks. I guess it’s protein then… &#$%, there go the kidneys. So diabetes is a balancing act, news to no one. But for someone plagued by suicidal thoughts it’s …inconvenient. There’s no safe side to stand on. There’s no safe behavior.

So, now I want to buy a motorcycle. It’s only a little thing. Owning a motorcycle is not in-and-of-itself suicidal. I’ve rented a motorcycle a few times in foreign countries and been in back a few times. I always loved it. But I always told myself it was too dangerous and I was too practical a person. Now I want one bad.

I think I’ll get one with flames on it. I think I’ll use it to ride back and forth across the Burmese/Thai border smuggling pictures of human rights violations. And I’ll publish exposes about suspected Mafia members by satellite from the jungle using my real name. In the evenings I’ll teach myself sword swallowing from a badly translated book in poor lighting.

Of course, with my luck, I won’t actually get a quick and glorious death. Instead I’ll end up paralyzed, with recurrent bouts of malaria, a chipped tooth, and a smell of decomposing horse-head that I can’t get out of my mattress whatever I do.

The sad truth is that I value my own life much less than I did before I was diagnosed. It’s not just something irrational that I feel; it’s an equation. In some sick, objective, and Darwinian sense, my life is worth less than it would have been if the dice had landed differently. My genes are worth less. I’m not as good an investment.

I want to be clear that I’m not actually a fan of eugenics. I’d never tolerate listening to someone else say or imply these things about another person—or even about him or herself. I’d rather be a humanist than a logician any day.

But I’ve lost something. And I really want that motorcycle.

Darling - We have all wanted to scream at the world at one time of the other. Some of us even tell God it’s not fair. We even get low when someone we know is going blind or just gives up and dies a slow painful death. But the reality is there is beauty out there it’s actually surrounds us if we just take the time to look. Diabetes and the it’s complications and comorbities becomes just inconvence of living! I say with being a third generation T1 and 36 years on the grind itself. It is only limiting factor in your life unless you let be - you will see on this site amazing things people have accomplished. So hang in there we have big shoulders to lean on. Mike

Everybody loses in their lifetime. It is what you hold onto despite the loss that matters. Give life a chance, it may just surprise you one day. Please stick around to find out. I bet it will be worth the ride.
Robyn