There. I said it. I have been saying that a lot lately. When The Mr. wants to know what's wrong I can often sum it up by saying, "I hate diabetes."

I'm having trouble dealing lately. I know people want to help. I know that when someone says, "It's a way of life," that they're trying to help. I know that when someone suggests I take a walk that they have my best interests at heart.

So why does it just make me want to cry? Why does it make me want to put my head through a wall? Why does it make me want to ignore diabetes and curl up in a ball in a corner? Why can I accept help from people some times and not others?

I hate diabetes. I hate what it does to my mind. I hate that it makes me feel so sh*tty sometimes. I hate that people don't get how relentless this disease is. I hate that I think about my blood sugar all. the. freaking. time. And that people just don't get that. I hate that I can't go for a walk with my kids or shopping without wondering if I'll go low.

I hate that I know people are thinking "She shouldn't be eating that." I hate that I have to censor my blog and bite my tongue. I hate that no matter how much I explain why diabetes is different for me than for someone else that people still think they know more or think I'm exaggerating or trying to cover up the truth. Or harp on only one thing I've said.

I hate that I can't find time to exercise. I hate that people think I'm dying because I've gained weight and can't fit exercise into my busy schedule. I hate that I can't be more receptive when people offer me help.

I hate diabetes.