There are some days that-despite fresh comments from my husband about 'someday having to cut off Mommy's foot'-I say to him "I'm going to get some ice cream." Those are usually the days he knows I need my fix to feel better because stress in one form or another has gotten the best of me.

And then there are the days when I sit in the parking lot of the grocery store eating a triple chocolate Drumstick because I know I can't scarf it down before I get home. (I bet this gets eaten on the way home, the cashier quips with a smile.) I head to the store under the auspices of getting milk or cereal for the next morning, but it's also an excuse to find something to feed my nasty habit. I really can't pass up a candy bar stand in a grocery store; although, I used to be able to.

I watch people watch me as they drive by, parked wrong-ways in the empty lane of the parking lot that's mostly abandoned because it's 9 p.m. in a small town. I feel their eyes judging me. They don't know about my diabetes, but they know something's off. Why else would an adult hide in the parking lot of a grocery store eating ice cream?

I've learned how to eat candy bars quickly between this store and our house just minutes away. My car has become a candy-bar wrapper graveyard. Once after my husband and son took my car to clean it out, I was exposed. "We found, like, 15 king size Twix bar wrappers," he said to me. I blushed and simply said "I like Twix" with a half-smile. He sighed heavily.

I don't think I even enjoy them any more. It's like a game: How Fast Can You Eat 60 Grams of Carbs That Will Haunt You For The Next 12 Hours?

I've long stopped feeling guilty about these jaunts. I hate myself for my behavior, but I don't beat myself up about it either.