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  • First time living with diabetes,
    It’s not easy. Watching what you eat,
    How much you eat
    When you eat,
    It’s not fun.

    And if you’re Type 1, you have to do injections
    These little imperfections
    Glaring out of your body, no apology
    For the embarrassment and shame of your disease
    That everyone has to see.

    You start off in denial: “no it can’t
    Be happening to me”.
    Is it even hereditary?
    Like the world has chosen you, and you, to bear this
    Chronic burden on your shoulders
    With whom you have never felt so weak.

    Bleak
    Is how your future seems
    “How will I grow up in
    a global society so indifferent and harsh to all the small sufferings that will
    add up into one
    implosive upchuck of disgust
    and malfunction, that
    will end any sense of humanity?”

    Over the years, you get used to
    Hiding your routine
    The smaller test kits, decorated
    Insulin box, “yeah it’s just a pencil case”.
    For the ones who knew it, you brush it
    Off like a cold
    Everyone sees it alright, but no
    YOU know, it’s a fruitless chase.

    A chase for fairness, for
    understanding, for
    justice, or maybe just
    for closure.

    People will gawk at your shots, your blood,
    Your apparent inability to control
    your damn disability, and
    You waddle in your little hole
    you dug in your mind
    with all the misery, pain and self-criticisms
    moulded into an iron hook
    that hangs every bit of hope
    on a plaque of ridicule, for
    no one to remember.

    Your parents push you to keep low, your
    Endo pushes you to get better
    Control
    And you push yourself to do the best you can to survive
    Because who knows how long you will survive?

    You know those times when you forget,
    You let loose and the shots you throw
    Over to Death, what an imminent threat.
    The twisted feeling of a slow death
    Your insides contracting like an infinite vacuum and
    Consciousness sucked into nothingness like your
    Existence didn’t even matter.

    It’s a slow death, so you don’t die yet
    You fight and fight and fight
    Until you can cry
    No more tears for your sorry soul,
    Your survivor’s guilt reminding you
    You were born to die
    With this disease.

    Those memes and cartoons about food
    And overeating, the golden keys to obesity
    YES apparently automatic diabetes!
    Well, those ignorant fallacies
    Just perpetuate more and more silent
    Mockings and jeerings of diabetic sufferers that
    Will soon culminate into an apocalyptic
    Paroxysm of ire and despair, and then
    Where
    Will we go
    From there?

    Through it all, you can’t help but
    Ask: “why? Why me?”
    I want to throw this back:
    “Why? Why not you?
    Who better than you?”
    You, who represent the life of the universe,
    A triumph of the human race,
    And who degrades themself down to the level of
    The very people who are trying to make you fall.

    NO. We have begun to join more hands around
    The world, to create a growing wave of diabetic
    Support and pride based upon unconditional understanding
    That can become too fierce to ignore.
    We will not be ignored.
    There is so much more to your life than that pit of sorrow
    You keep at the back of your mind
    WE are the pioneers of this wave, the ones
    Who are speaking out for diabetes,
    For a future rid of diabetes.
    For the 3rd world diabetics whose sufferings have
    Been muffled by a stubborn civilization fueled by an irrational idea that
    Proper medical treatment should not be free.

    Yes, it all starts when we stand together and shout
    In unison with a never-ending echo, calling for
    The world to start taking this disease
    Truly seriously.
    We must convince them to care
    Because
    We care
    About the future of our lives
    The future of our children’s lives
    Those who have yet to experience the weight of
    a thousand judging eyes.

    We will embrace the world with our campaign,
    Our rampage
    Because
    O is for outrage.
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