And this time, it’s personal. 

My Demon Hunger is back, and this time I don’t know how to make it go away, and it is driving my crazy. 

Previously, it was always simply a matter of getting caught up on my meds. But as far as I can tell, I am on point with my meds and yet I am still crazy fucking hungry nearly all the time. 

I have even expanded my meals somewhat, and that’s something I almost never do. Ditto on eating between meals. I don’t do either of those and yet I have been doing both in a vain attempt to keep this fucking hunger at bay. 

The best I can do is keep it relatively calm for short periods. 

Now patient readers know that this is quite possibly a lot more than just a bad case of the munchies. It could mean that something is terribly out of whack with my diabetes and that means my cells are frantically sending out hunger signals because they are not getting enough energy from the blood stream due to lack of insulin response. 

So I am starving to death on a cellular level. Lovely! 

If this keeps up, I will have to check myself into the ER. As usual, this kind of thing waits till the weekend to kick into high gear, and therefore there is no chance I could just go see my GP about it. Not until Monday, and I may not have the luxury of waiting that long. 

I am trying not to totally freak out about this, but it’s not easy. 

Obviously, I don’t want to go back to the fucking hospital. I doubt it would be the sort of thing where I would need to be admitted and end up in a room like when I had the pneumonia, but still. 

My memories of being adrift in that environment are still too fresh for me to be ready to go there again. 

But I also don’t want to die. 

So there’s that. 

It’s so hard to think clearly when you are starving. Here I am actively stuffing my face with food and it is barely making a dent in the hunger. I shudder to think of what it would take to make me actually feel full. 

I did have fun imagining a doctor writing me a prescription for a buffet. 

I honestly don’t know how they would treat my problem.  The immediate response is obvious : a heavy glucose drip. More time with an IV in me, yay. But you can’t always wait for digestion to get the job done. 

Sometimes you have to go right into the vein. 

But I don’t know how they would treat the lack of insulin response if my current meds are not doing the job.  It is possible that they have access to meds stronger than what I normally take. 

But it is also possible that they do not. And then I would have to face a seriously bad possibility : 

That I have finally fucked myself over with my self-neglect badly enough that I am now a brittle diabetic who could die at any moment from cellular starvation and all that brings. 

My hands are cold. Weird. 

The thing is, I know a guy who died just like I might. And his name was Mike, just like me. He was a fat dude like me too, and he had type 2 diabetes, and he didn’t really take care of it properly either. 

And so he slipped from type 2 diabetes – insulin tolerance buildup into type 1 – not enough insulin and from there into brittle type 1 – no normal insulin response at all. 

And from there, he got even worse, to the point where his roomies had to call the ambulance three or four times a week to get them to come essentially jump start him. 

Shock paddles, glucose mainlined into his veins, the whole deal. 

And well, one time it just didn’t work, or possibly they didn’t get to him in time. Either way, he fucking died. 

And I would really rather avoid that. I haven’t even had a chance to live yet. I am sure as shit not ready to die. 

Of course, it is possible that I am goign way over the top with this and goading myself into a paranoid frenzy over nothing at all. 

Maybe I just need to let my meds do their thing and any moment now I will catch up and my blood sugar level will go to normal and all my cells will get their care packages of lovely delicious glucose, just like Mom and glucogenesis used to make, and all will be right in God’s kingdom again. 

 This might all be an extended and elaborate panic attack, and no more. 

But I can’t take that kind of risk. I have got to at least consider the fact that I might be in a serious bind right now. 

Ironically, if I was taking better care of myself, I would have a glucometer set up and ready to take a reading that would tell me whether or not I had any reason to panic. 

But I don’t. I have no idea where my old glucometer is, let alone its test strips and lancets and the rest. 

I don’t even know where my insulin injection pen is. And I bet some good old insulin would go over real good right now. 

All I can do is monitor my own condition as best as I can and be ready to hit the official panic button if things get bad enough. 

One tiny bit of good news : my hands were cold because I forgot to close the window after taking my last shower. 

So that’s one symptom down, at least. What I thought might be the cold hand of death stealing over me turned out to be the far more familiar hand of my own fractured state of mind. 

I wonder if I would still be absentminded if I was sane.

Felicity is lying down. I guess my next step is to call Joe. 

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow. 

At least, I hope so.