always.

What’s it like to have type 1 diabetes? What’s it really like? 

It’s like you want to kill yourself, because being dead would be so much easier than dealing with this on a regular basis. Except, you would never actually end your life. You want to, so badly, but you’ll never do it. You don’t want diabetes to win. You won’t let the thing that’s slowly killing you to finally do it’s job. Instead, you just think about death. Obsess over it. To the point where now this disease is a mental game. No matter how often those thoughts cross your mind, you won’t do it. You refuse to let this bastard win.

It’s like you’re drowning. The waves are crashing over your head and water is slowly, and painfully, filling up your lungs but you just won’t die. You need to get air in your lungs. You can’t bare this torture any longer but the pain won’t take you away. You are stuck there in limbo. You can’t die but you can’t live either. Your life is now consumed by pain and no matter how badly you want that breath of fresh air, you won’t get it. Ever.

It’s like you listen to your parents. You follow their step-by-step instructions but they still ream you out for something that was out of your control. You did everything you were supposed to do but it still wasn’t good enough. So, you try to apologize, try to make up for it, but they aren’t having any of it. They punish you and you think ’this is so unfair’ but this is your life now and you have to get used to it.

It’s like the world around you is on fire. Everyone and everything you have ever loved is going up in flames. You do absolutely everything in your power to try to save them all but your efforts are in vein. You’re the only one not getting touched by the fire but you see and hear all your loved ones crying out for your help. There’s nothing you can do. You feel completely helpless. You wish you can do more, but they go up in smoke right in front of your eyes. 

It’s like contemplating giving your self one too many extra units of insulin. Because, maybe then, all of this would go away. You know you’re stronger than that though. However, you’re sick of being strong, sick of being told you’re strong. But, like before, you won’t let diabetes win. So you give yourself the proper amount

It’s like being isolated. No one truly understands where you are coming from. They try to empathize but they’ll never actually get it. You’re constantly the butt of everyone’s jokes. They mock you, tease you, and you feel completely and totally alone. So you shut down, shut everyone out, even if they want to help.

mushroom nightlight ~5.50 🍄🌱

1. If it feels wrong, don’t do it.

2. Say “exactly” what you mean.

3. Don’t be a people pleaser.

4. Trust your instincts.

5. Never speak badly about yourself.

6. Never give up on your dreams.

7. Don’t be afraid to say “no”.

8. Don’t be afraid to say “yes”.

9. Resist the need to always have control.

10. Stay away from drama and negativity – as much as possible.

This was meant to be a quick warm up, but it turned into a comic that I’ve wanted to draw for a while. This is something that is extremely important to me, and I appreciate it if you read it.

A while ago, I heard a story that broke my heart. A family went a cat shelter to adopt. The daughter fell in love with a 3-legged cat. The father straight up said “absolutely not”. Because he was missing a leg. That cat was that close to having a family that loved him, but the missing leg held him back. Why?!

Many people have the initial instinct of “nope” when they see an imperfect animal. I get it, but less-adoptable does NOT mean less loveable. 9 out of 10 people will choose a kitten over an adult cat. And those 10% that would get an adult cat often overlook “different” animals.

All I want people to do is be open to the idea of having a “different” pet in their lives. Choose the pet that you fall in love with, but at least give all of them a fair shot at winning your heart.

This is Lenore. I first saw her in a little cage at the Petco I frequent (I used to take my parents’ dog in for puppy play time), and she looked like the grouchiest, old, crotchety cat in the world, and I fell instantly in love. She was cranky, she was anti-social, hanging out at the back of her cage. Her fur was matted because she wouldn’t let the groomers near her.

She was perfect.

But I didn’t have a place for her. I wasn’t living in my own space yet, and where I was, I wasn’t allowed cats. So I pressed my face to the bars of her cage and I promised that if no one had adopted her by the time I’d bought a house, I would come back for her.

I visited her every week for over six months while I looked for a house. At one point, they had to just shave her entire rear-end because the mats or fur were so bad. They told me she clawed the heck outta the groomer that did it, screamed the entire time, and spent the next two days growling at anyone that came near the cage.

A couple of weeks later, I closed on my house. I went back and I got an employee, and I said: “That one. I need that cat.”

They got the paperwork and the lady who ran the rescue that was bringing the cats in told me that Lenore (at the time, Lila) was 8 years old, had been owned by an elderly lady who had died, and brought in to a different rescue, who’d had her for six months on top of the time I’d been seeing her at Petco.

This kitty had been living in a 3x3’ cube for over a YEAR because she was older and “less adoptable.”

I signed the paperwork, put her in a cat carrier, and drove her to my new home. I had pretty much nothing; a bed, an old couch, a couple of bookcases, and a tank of mice I called “Cat TV”. I let her out of the carrier and onto my bed, and I told her “I told you I would come back for you when I had a place. It’s not much, but it’s yours too now.”

Lenore spent the next three days straight purring non-stop. She followed me around the house purring. Sat next to me purring. Slept next to me purring. Leaning into every touch, purring, purring, always purring. She still purrs if you so much as think about petting her. She’s amazing, and I love her.