Coming out of the closet.....

I think this is something that has been due for quite some time. I need to shout this out to the world. I have hidden this, not deliberately, but nevertheless hidden it from everybody…not exactly everybody. People who are close to me know this. I didn’t want to be looked upon differently once everyone knows. I thought people were educated and cool enough to take things in their stride and telling them wouldn’t be a big issue…BOY!!! Was I ever so wrong in my life? The look changes, the talks change. They look at you with newly acquired magnifying glasses. That is when I decided that this will be a secret I keep to myself..

I am sure that the above para would have made my readers wonder about my sexual orientation. To make it clear, let me announce it… I am straight. ( no questions on that front…trust me I checked thoroughly).

The secret that I want to tell out is that I am a diabetic. A juvenile diabetic. An insulin dependent juvenile diabetic. All that I said in the first para is true. The stigma is the same. They look upon me just the same as they look at people with a differed lifestyle from theirs.

Life hasn’t exactly been fun and frolic with this particular affliction. I have struggled through and at many points almost thought of giving up the battle. But somehow always managed to push through. And that is where it gets really irritating…already I am struggling to come to terms with this when people who aren’t qualified enough to be e counter-person at a pharmacy come out with medical advice as though they were part of the President’s medical team.

Even those people I can forgive…if not that, at least forget. But the ones I wont be able to forgive are the ones are the silent saboteurs. I tell them that this is what is happening with me and they are immediately into the sympathy mode.”” Oh so sad…at such a young age…god is cruel…””” . I hate that… never in my life have I ever asked anyone for their pity. Damn … whatever I got in my life I worked for it and got it through my efforts. I am damn proud of what I am. This act of feeling sorry for me is an active reminder that I am not perfect wherein everyday I survive thinking that I am.

I get that there are cases of genuine concern but that doesn’t mean squat to me. Because concern cant do anything to change my situation. I appreciate it … Thanks, but NO THANKS.

Let me be
Let me be all that I can be
Don’t remind me
Of things I refuse to see