Home Again, Jiggety Jig

Came home, changed out to a new omnipod (I keep wanting to say ipod heh heh heh), cried for awhile.

Tested at 35. Ate some graham crackers and cried some more.

I hate being broken.

I hate it more than anything in the whole world. I hate being dead already, just limping along with the help of synthetic insulin.

I hate being broken.

Crying some more.

Tomorrow will be better.

That’s all living with chronic illness is for me, really: that stubborn conviction that tomorrow will be better.

Getting the sweats and the shakes at the sugar comes back up.

Fucked up cyborg, I am.

Limping along.

Tomorrow will be better.

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