I cried.

It's amazing how in two weeks time, you can completely go off the deep end. One piece of bad news, and you're done for. It doesn't even have to be "end of the world" news...it doesn't take much.

Last Monday I received a call from my dog's vet...I was told that she has diabetes.

My dog has diabetes. Is this even possible?

Absolutely.

Especially when your dog lives the same lifestyle that you and/or your family live: sedentary and full of unhealthy food. Come to think of it, she's one of us, in furry, 4-legged form.

It's fucking sick.

The vet is coming to the house tomorrow morning (we have to have house calls as my dog has developed this weird phobia of EVER leaving the house, and subsequently has seizures whenever we take her ANYWHERE) to show me how to give my dog insulin shots.

Did you ever think that you would be learning how to give a fucking dog INSULIN?

Yeah, neither did I.

Americans are killing themselves...and our animals too. It's a sad society we live in when our ANIMALS actually develop the same diseases we develop...and for the same reasons.

Lack of exercise.

Lack of proper diet.

Needless to say, it's been a rough two weeks.

I crashed big time when I found out about my dog. I came home from work, found my dog with her nose pressed up against our front door (there happens to be a cool draft by the door), and I layed down next to her, held her and cried. I don't know why I cried...I guess I cried because I was so ashamed of how we completely destroyed this poor animal, who has done nothing but show us endless love and affection for the past 11 years. I cried because we knew better, but we always said that we'd worry about it later. I cried because so many of us are headed down the same path.

I cried because I didn't know what else to do. I was totally helpless. I've spent the past two weeks in this cocoon...walking around like a zombie, yet pretending nothing was wrong.

I've spent the past two weeks treating my body like Hell. Diet? What's that. Exercise? Yeah, a little bit here and there, but not nearly enough to make up for the slow food suicide I've been attempting.

It's been a rough start to the year, and it doesn't look like it's getting any better.

After much debate, I decided to join Curves again. I don't know why...I guess I just need that structure in my life, and if I have to pay $44.00/month for it, so be it. I don't smoke anymore, so whatever $$ I save from that can go towards Curves.

But I digress.

I had to be weighed and measured at my first visit last night...obviously not something I was eagerly anticipating.

And I stepped on the scale.

275.

I have sucessfully managed to gain 20 lbs since Thanksgiving...since I quit smoking.

I have never been more disappointed in myself than I was when that perky little "I'll be 19 next week" teenager called out those horrific numbers.

I have gained back half of what I lost originally.

I'm so ashamed.

And to top it off, these crazy headaches I get on a daily basis are out of control. They aren't just headaches...they are a squeezing pressure in my skull...sometimes accompanied by some tingling in my forehead and face...and then some random twinges throughout my body.

I just don't know what to do anymore.

I make myself an appt with a new doc next Friday...took a day off of work for it and everything. (God knows I could use it.) I tried to make an appt with my normal doc, but she has shitty office hours. I asked the delightfully refreshing receptionist if I could see the other doc in the practice, to which she replied, "our doctors prefer to see their own patients." (In her snotty little "I'm better than you" demeanding tone.)

Bitch. Fuck her.

So, I made a few calls, and found an office that I liked immediately. The receptionist that answered was also Kelly, spelled the same and all. Not only was she extremely polite and professional, but she was honest with me. I explained to her that I was tired of having docs that don't listen, and simply medicate. I'm fucking sick of pills, and just another temporary fix.

I NEED TO KNOW IF THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME, OR I'M JUST OVERLY STRESSED, AND LOSING MY MIND!!

I shouldn't feel like I'm knocking at death's door at 26. Not at all.

But I do. And I'm tired of it.

When I sit down and really think about it, I know I don't have it bad. I always have to remind myself that my life could be a million times worse, and that I'm pretty lucky.

But how do you convice your mind of this, when you feel trapped in your own personal Hell?

I don't know if I'll ever find out.