The other night, I wanted to eat a pound of cheese fries and drink five beers.
Wouldn’t that have been great?
Instead, I went home, ate some Spanish cheese and soy crisps, and went to bed mostly hungry.
I am so tired of being hungry. Also, tired of needles. Also, tired of nerve-damaged feet. But having feet – nerve-damaged or not – is better than not having any feet. So really, I’m lucky.
But my feet are a constant reminder that things are not OK with me, that I’m sick, that at some point in the far future, I may lose some of these very lovely toes. On the one hand, the constant tingling or twitching on the bottoms of my feet and toes is a hateful thing. It keeps me from being able to pretend that everything’s fine. On the other hand, it keeps me from be able to pretend that everything’s fine, and so keeps me from eating like everything’s fine. I know what’s at stake. I can stay pretty focused.
And pretty hungry.
I called Dr. S today, and we upped the insulin again (I’d been upping it on my own between this call and the one before). We’ve gone from a starting insulin dose of 18 in the morning and 10 at night to 30 in the morning and 28 at night, which says something about why I felt so freakin’ shitty after the initial leveling-out period.
I’ll be seeing Dr. S. on the 19th, and unless this new uppage does some kind of wonderful thing, I’m going to ask that we move me back to the other insulin regimen, because this one just isn’t working with any kind of consistency. My sugar spikes in the afternoon while at work and again at night while I’m lying in bed, so I lie there and listen to my heart pound hard and often irregularly in my chest for an hour before the insulin brings me back down.
Also, really fascinated with the fact that I’ve lost what used to be a really high sex drive.
Not that it’s gone, mind you, but it’s not what it was. That’s what shitty sugar will do to you (and yes, that’s another reason I really, really want to get the insulin sorted out). I do realize that, being single, there’s not a lot to do with a sex drive if I did have my old one back, but you know, I *like* looking at people. I *like* sighing over people I find attractive. One of the reasons I hated being on the pill was because I never ovulated, and lost that monthly spike in sexual interest where everyone I met just looked so beautiful…
I miss that.
I don’t know, sometimes, how much of my exhaustion with the whole thing is physical, and how much is mental. It’s just the constant nagging thing, trying to get everything to work out right. I want to get this under control before I start boxing classes, which I wanted to start in August, but which I may push back until September (which is as far as I’ll push it. After that, it’s “suck it up” time).
Jenn had some friends in town this weekend, and the four of us went to a restaurant, and Jenn and I both ended up in front of the sinks in the bathroom at the same time, and when I looked at us both in the mirror, our difference in size was really apparent. I looked absolutely gargantuan next to her. Not fat, so much, though I obviously weigh more, but just… big. I am just big. When I stand her in front of me and line up her left shoulder with mine, her right shoulder hits the center of my chest. Granted, Jenn is just little, but man, seeing myself look so huge and intimidating reminded me again that I live in a society that doesn’t seem to have a place for me. If I’m supposed to be a little objectified woman who exists to be looked at, well, I’m pretty bad at that… But you know, boxing? When I was boxing, I felt like my body was just right, like I was built just for this. I had this fantastic, powerful body that was actually really *good* for something. I didn’t feel too-big or freakish. I felt just right.
And that’s why I need to get back to it: beyond the fitness part, the self defense part, it’s something that makes me feel better in my skin, that makes me feel like I’m not too big and bulky and awkward. No, I’m powerful and intimidating and free.
Also, really hungry right now.
I may have to get in the habit of making something like egg salad or chicken salad and bringing that to work to snack on. The idea of eating plain hard boiled eggs isn’t that appealing, and you can only eat so much beef jerky before you get sick on it.
I think a lot of my problems with the change in eating isn’t *what* I eat – I’m actually eating a wider variety of things now that I’m diabetic – it’s *how much* I eat. I got so used to packing in some ridiculous amount of calories every day, living on popcorn and nutrigrain bars and going out to lunch and having chocolate cake twice a week, that changing that mode after a year of, “I can eat anything I want and still lose weight!” I’m pretty startled to find myself subsisting primarily on cheese and almonds. I mean, gawd, I’m a former binge eater, too, and one of the big reasons I resolved never to get any kind of stomach surgery was because I love to eat sometimes, just eat until I’m exhausted. I mean, that’s what holidays are for. I enjoy the celebration. I’d broken the binge eating cycle before I got sick, but the, “Let’s celebrate and eat!” thing was still OK, I could still do it.
And, I guess I still can, only with, like hot wings and omelettes.
Dammit.
I actually crave the low sugar days (few to none, right now) when I can eat one piece of chocolate or even three whole graham crackers! Or jellybeans! Or! Or!
Sometimes, I’m just tired. It’ll get better. It’ll get easier. It’s only been two months. When I figure this whole thing out, when I find an insulin regimen that works and fine tune it, everything will be OK.
I know it will, but it doesn’t mean it makes it any easier not to lust after cheese fries and multiple bottles of beer.
I get sad, sometimes.
