They Call me Diabetty 

I experienced my first harassment for my illness a couple days ago. I had posted a picture of some French toast I made myself for breakfast, because I was having a low blood sugar and believe fully that if you need to save your own life, you’d better make it tasty as a reward to yourself for being your own hero. It was. Very tasty. So much so that I posted my creation on Instagram…only to get some hooligan to post in my comments: “No wonder you’re diabetic.” 
Really? I’m Type 1 asshole. Get your shit straight. 
For the astounding increase of diabetes in the world, we still remain extremely ignorant on the subject. I am a Type 1 diabetic. “Is that the bad kind?” People often ask me in ignorance. “It’s all bad.” I often want to respond. But more-or-less I try to educate people on it as much as I can. Try to refute the myths. Try to be as open and kind as I can, because the only way to combat ignorance is with education…so I thought.
Most people get bored or don’t care to remember. 
I fretted a bit about the comment. I wanted to deal a low blow at first. But, instead I tried to educate, and left it at that. He kept trying to defend himself. Embarrassed and hurt he dug the hole deeper. Trying to rationalize that Type 1 could be caused by diet too. How stupid can a person get? Making “you’re lucky you’re not fat” comments and a bunch of other myths he spewed to try to make me feel bad. I DM him a link to educate himself and then blocked him. I was so done with his shit.
I wondered why I felt the need to respond at all? What did I care what some ignorant asshole thought of me? Why do I even bother to inform people who are fully capable of educating themselves? If they actually cared to know, wouldn’t they know by now? Wouldn’t they have gone through the trouble of researching beyond fad diets and poor publicity? Wouldn’t they know about the myths of diabetes and the different types? If they cared to, they would.
So I’ve decided not to embarrass the haters with knowledge. Instead I decided to let them embarrass themselves. After all, who else needs to know how to take care of me, but me and those who actually want to know? 
I still find that decision to be unsatisfactory. I want them to think before they speak to anyone about their chronic illness. Not just diabetes either. Cancer patients must get a ton of crap for their disease too. People with autism do, and I know that for a fact. People with depression. People with any mental illness. I’ve heard plenty of jokes about all of it. Insensitive jokes and myths. Ignorant spewing of hurtful and hateful things. 
In my case specifically, I want people to understand my disease. I want people to know my reasons. I want people to know what it’s like to go to the doctor after doing all they’ve been told to do and feel that disappointment of having their A1C super high. I want them to get the lecture of “you could die if you don’t get this figured out,” when the doctor doesn’t believe you really did all they asked. I want them to see the bills I get and cry over the expense of having a disease you never asked for. I want them to feel the way I do when people comment “No wonder you’re diabetic.” 


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