Fuck You, Diabetes.

Fuck you, diabetes, for picking my life to complicate. I hate you for so many reasons, a handful of which are:

• I can't just eat anything I want, anytime I want because you'll kill me.
• I can't not eat because you'll kill me.
• My abdomen is a polka dotted mess.
• My house/car/office is littered with used test strips.
• My wallet/bank account is lighter because you cost me a fortune every month.
• I rarely sleep through the night because you're so fucking high maintenance.
• I have to buy clothes that will hide/accommodate the tools I need to survive you.
• My husband jokingly refers to me as his "little android" (this one is not so bad, but I'd rather be referred to as his "hot, healthy wife").
• My husband worries about my health.
• I can't leave my house without carrying a suitcase-sized purse filled with supplies to manage you.
• I can't just be tossed into a swimming pool in a playful manner because I'll ruin $10,000 worth of equipment.
• I'm exhausted from fighting with you all the time.
• Everyday, when I take a shower, I catch the loofah on my infusion set. Everyday. Single. Day.
• You've ruined countless dinners out, vacations, holidays, parties, and meetings because you're so damned unpredictable.
• I have to think about you 24 hours a day.
• I spent my first wedding anniversary feeling like shit because you decided to curse me with an inexplicable 400 mg/dl blood sugar.
• And, most of all, I fucking hate you for making it so hard for me to have a baby.

I can't wait for the day when a cure kicks your ass. Until then, fuck you, diabetes.