Bad, bad diabetic!

When you're fat, and I am, it's essential to learn how to love yourself in spite of the messages you receive from others. Loving myself isn't a problem these days. I love my smile, my too-loud laugh; I love the way I love life; the way my round-as-pie face is like a magnet for folks in distress. If I'm in a grocery store and a kid gets lost, somehow it will find its way to my side and there I go, marching to the rescue. I love that about me. I used to love my hair, but it began to betray me with its barb-wire gray strands that show up at the most inopportune times. Grrr... still, I love that I have hair and gray or not, it grows in healthy and strong -- except for the gray strands that have been sent from aliens, I'm sure. So here's the big question: If I love myself so much, why am I constantly trying to kill myself? And if I'm really serious about killing myself, wouldn't it be easier do something truly dangerous like jumping from a moving vehicle or standing between a politician and a microphone? Instead, I've opted for a slow, stupid death. Death by cupcake. Or M&Ms. Or grilled cheese sandwich. In 2007 I was diagnosed with diabetes. I have not taken that diagnosis seriously. My weight at the time was 265, creeping up past 270 at times. Getting down to a svelte 255 -- stop laughing, jackals -- is a small victory. Now I need to go further. So my resolution for 2010 is to embrace my diabetes. To love my diabetes. To treat its presence in my life like a brand new exotic pet. My last A1C was almost 9. My doctor had a cow. I had a Snickers. Time to wise up. I really don't want to kill myself. My children need me. My community needs me. I need me. So I've made the decision to make a stand. Do something. And you know what? I like that... very much!