- Messages
- 94
- Type of diabetes
- Treatment type
- Diet only
It’s been more than a month since being crowned a diabetic and my head often feels far too heavy from the weight of it all. The monotony of a low carbohydrate diet with portion control and my forced participation in The Hunger Games has left me constantly wanting to retreat to a life before all of this culinary restriction. This afternoon, while working from home, I could not stave off the panic of collapse from setting in as I explored my kitchen cupboards for remains of the past like an alcoholic in contemplative recovery perusing the liquor cabinet, initially as a measure of my success before very quickly devolving into a dangerous game of just-a-taste.
I came across a seemingly impossible forgotten can of Pringles that was being blocked by a concerned Quaker on a large drum of oatmeal like a Just Say No to Drugs bumper sticker on the lamppost of a dealer’s corner. And like any fiend in desperate need of a score, I wasn’t going to let age old wisdom create an obstacle in my self-destructive path towards the Pringle Guy’s sacred starch offering.
I had purchased what seemed like a crate of cans of my favorite ersatz potato chip snack while they were at a very special price about a year ago in a big box store, which I distinctly remember visiting just to walk through their cavernous aisles as exercise to push through the exhaustion and unfortunately not the irony that most of its food was causing me to feel. Fortunately, for their corporate shareholders and unfortunately for their customers, that retail establishment not so subtly plays both sides of a profitable game by providing their everyday low prices on most of the junk food that sends too many like myself directly across the aisle into the pharmacy where they corner the market on the cheapest diabetic supplies anywhere in the country. And even when the vicious cycle eventually peters out for good, it's reassuring to know they have unbeatable prices on caskets.
That first bite of pringle was the miniscule size an anorexic mouse might nibble off just to appease her rightfully concerned mother, but still guiltily enjoyed by allowing the complexity of flavor to echo far beyond the dissolution of its form. And then I took several gluttonous handfuls, the size equivalent of the poor anorexic mouse, her mother, father, twenty siblings and the entire overpopulated neighborhood of Mouseville, shamefully stuffing myself into a state of nausea, delight and for once in a long time a feeling of being full.
I am going to start over again tomorrow. This is really hard at times.
I came across a seemingly impossible forgotten can of Pringles that was being blocked by a concerned Quaker on a large drum of oatmeal like a Just Say No to Drugs bumper sticker on the lamppost of a dealer’s corner. And like any fiend in desperate need of a score, I wasn’t going to let age old wisdom create an obstacle in my self-destructive path towards the Pringle Guy’s sacred starch offering.
I had purchased what seemed like a crate of cans of my favorite ersatz potato chip snack while they were at a very special price about a year ago in a big box store, which I distinctly remember visiting just to walk through their cavernous aisles as exercise to push through the exhaustion and unfortunately not the irony that most of its food was causing me to feel. Fortunately, for their corporate shareholders and unfortunately for their customers, that retail establishment not so subtly plays both sides of a profitable game by providing their everyday low prices on most of the junk food that sends too many like myself directly across the aisle into the pharmacy where they corner the market on the cheapest diabetic supplies anywhere in the country. And even when the vicious cycle eventually peters out for good, it's reassuring to know they have unbeatable prices on caskets.
That first bite of pringle was the miniscule size an anorexic mouse might nibble off just to appease her rightfully concerned mother, but still guiltily enjoyed by allowing the complexity of flavor to echo far beyond the dissolution of its form. And then I took several gluttonous handfuls, the size equivalent of the poor anorexic mouse, her mother, father, twenty siblings and the entire overpopulated neighborhood of Mouseville, shamefully stuffing myself into a state of nausea, delight and for once in a long time a feeling of being full.
I am going to start over again tomorrow. This is really hard at times.
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