On May 29th, 2016, I decided that I needed to lose weight. Over the course of my freshman year of college, I had gained about 12 pounds, putting me at my highest weight of 162.8. I bought a Fitbit, I started counting calories, and I imposed a rigorous exercise regime upon myself. I didn’t have much of a problem about how I looked - I just didn’t want to have to buy new pants. My old ones were super comfortable, and I looked cute in them when I was the correct size.

I spent my summer in a 1780s style corset, rehearsing for a production of Peter Schaffer’s Amadeus. I got myself down to 157.4, and wearing a corset every day for about six weeks shaved a good inch off my natural waistline. I was walking constantly, so I slowed down my exercise regime, and I spent my free time writing program notes and research papers, doing dramaturgical research and taking an online class on the history of comic books, all while watching Orange is the New Black and Bob’s Burgers on repeat.

On August 15th, 2016, I moved into my studio apartment in Philadelphia. I was finally getting to live entirely on my own for the very first time, and just that fact alone was exhilarating. I ran around all of my favorite haunts, relieved to finally be back home. I stuffed my face with pancakes (despite the fact that I was still counting calories) to celebrate my friend’s birthday, and then my classes started the day after, and the day after that my first show for the season, The Summer in Gossensass. I had a sinus infection that I let fester for a couple of weeks before I finally made it to an urgent care facility, and I spent a week on amoxycillin to kick it out. When I wasn’t in class or rehearsal, I was doing homework, stretched out on my little green couch surrounded by papers and books. One of my only excursions was to see President Obama speak, a decision I don’t regret for one second. On September 28th, I went to auditions for the Bomb A$$ Cabaret, which I was then supposed to co-stage manage (but ended up leaving due to my placement on Pocatello soon after). On September 30th, my parents came to see The Summer in Gossensass. I moved the rest of my things into my apartment, and as soon as I’d filled the bookshelves, it finally really felt like home. We bought me my own scale, and on October 2nd, I weighed 156.2 pounds, and I attributed this to a lack of time for exercise, having wished I lost more. I celebrated by seeing Turandot at the Philadelphia Opera, and then again later that week by seeing Bernie Sanders speak in the same room where my stage combat class took place.

On Thursday, October 13th, I started rehearsals for my second show of the season, Pocatello. I weighed 155.7 pounds. I had even less free time than I had during Gossensass, and it felt somewhat like all I did was do homework, eat, rehearse, sleep, and repeat. On October 21st, my father won an award from his alma mater, and I texted him celebratory messages from my rehearsal room. On November 4th, we went into tech rehearsals for Pocatello, and it was a grueling weekend of running up and down flights of concrete stairs and taping out tables and dealing with real food onstage. And on top of everything, I kept getting persistent nosebleeds for no apparent reason. On November 6th, I weighed 152.8 pounds. On November 7th, I left my directing class early to go to a Hillary Clinton rally at Independence Hall. On November 8th, my crew and I watched the election results pour in backstage during our invited dress rehearsal for Pocatello. I stayed up until three in the morning, bawling so loudly when Hillary conceded that I’m sure my neighbors could hear me. On November 9th, I emailed my professor my homework, took a day off for the sake of my sanity, and sat on the floor of Fat Jack’s Comicrypt on Sansom Street and pet one of the resident cats for half an hour. On November 13th, I weighed 149.3 pounds, a miraculous .7 pounds under my goal. On November 19th, we closed Pocatello. On November 20th, I weighed 147.8 pounds.

I hadn’t weighed so little since my sophomore year of high school.

On November 23rd, I flew home for Thanksgiving. I stuffed my face for the next several days, and I drank more water than I had ever wanted to before. We decorated for Christmas, and it was as wonderful as ever to see the familiar old decorations, and to remember the new ones I’d forgotten about. On November 27th, I flew back home, and, despite how much I’d eaten and how little I’d moved over the past four days, I weighed 144.2 pounds. I returned to school, and I spent my time in classes, recovering from the Pocatello schedule, and working on finals. I started to feel thirsty all the time, and I began to drink at least a gallon of liquid every day. On December 2nd, I submitted my first Odyssey article, and I felt like a real-time Lois Lane. On December 4th, I weighed 142.6 pounds.

I hadn’t weighed so little since my freshman year of high school.

On December 6th, I went to see Moana in University City with a friend of mine, and as we walked back to my apartment, a bright silver car turned the corner as we were crossing the street and hit us. It hit her first, and I only processed her falling, and went to catch her, then I felt my legs crumble, my hips hit the ground, some part of her body hit my ribs, and the brightness of a headlight in my face, which, for some ungodly reason, I reached up and attempted to stop with the palm of my hand. We pulled ourselves up, rescued my umbrella blowing in the middle of the street, and by the time either of us thought to talk to the person who had been driving the car, he was gone. On December 8th, I went to the urgent care center for x-rays, and miraculously only had a few rib contusions, despite the fact that it hurt to take too-deep breaths, and I couldn’t settle in any position for too long. Over the next week, I baked excessively, and I finished my exams, and I watched my friends trickle slowly out of the city. I was beginning to get worried about my sudden and fast weight loss, but my mother told me that it probably wasn’t anything to worry about, so I tried not to. I spent the rest of my time after classes ended eating leftover cookies, lying on my couch reading books on feminism and pop culture and watching Good Girls Revolt, drinking at least a gallon and a half of liquid a day (mostly water, but also juice, soda, and lemonade). I was totally exhausted, but I attributed it to it being the end of the semester.

On December 20th, my parents and I flew to Disneyworld for Christmas. On the plane, I read Kameron Hurley’s book The Geek Feminist Revolution, and in the book she outlined her diagnosis of late onset type one diabetes. It was a terrifying story of hospital trips, comas, and expired insulin, and it all began with a massive loss of weight and constant thirst. I tucked the knowledge into the back of my brain, but didn’t connect it to myself. Sure, I was losing weight to the point that my clothes felt like they were hanging off my body, and I was always thirsty, but it had to be something else.

I spent our week in Disney stuffing as much food into my face as I could manage, eating even when I wasn’t hungry and sucking down whatever drinks I could get my hands on. And even though we were walking around 10 miles a day, I was convinced that I was going to be able to gain some weight back based on the amount I was eating and all of the soda I was drinking. And although I spent the entire trip having fun and enjoying the time with my parents and grandparents, there was worry gnawing in the back of my brain that there was something inherently wrong with my body.

We flew back to Philadelphia on December 27th, and then we drove back to my hometown of Potsdam, New York the day after. I continued to stuff my face and suck down water and Coca Cola, and I added sitting around doing nothing to my list - the perfect combo to gain weight. My mom and I had finally come to the conclusion that something was wrong with my body, and we were going to deal with it. We had briefly mentioned the possibility of diabetes, but neither of us quite accepted it, so I didn’t bother trying to change any of my habits.

On January 3rd, I had an appointment with my gynecologist. When I was weighed at the office, I clocked in at 137.2 pounds, a weight I haven’t been at since middle school. I told my doctor about my weight loss and thirst and a few other symptoms, and I could see her quietly starting to panic as she asked me questions about each one. She presented the most likely options to me: either there was a blockage in one of my ovaries releasing excess testosterone, my thyroid had reverted into hyperthyroidism, or I had developed type one diabetes. She gave me a list of seven fasting blood tests I had to have done, and I went from her appointment straight to an ultrasound. I had my blood drawn the morning of January 4th, and that night she called me to say that my fasting blood sugar was 309.

A healthy blood sugar level sits between 100 and 140.

She told me not to eat anything with an excess of sugar, and to keep my carbs to a bare minimum until I could get into a doctor who could properly treat me. The morning of January 5th, I woke up to another phone call from her saying that a primary care doctor could see me in an hour. And he confirmed our suspicions, and sent me to the only endocrinologist in our county.

On January 5th, 2017, I was diagnosed with a late onset case of type one diabetes.

Essentially, what this means is that my pancreas is no longer producing insulin, and whatever insulin that is produced is immediately attacked by my white blood cells before it has the chance to regulate my blood sugar. And, based on my bloodwork, my blood sugar has been sitting around 300 for several weeks. Meaning that, in theory, I could have had some sort of diabetic episode at any point over the past month at the least.

On the bright side, my endocrinologist immediately put me on two types of insulin and gave me a glucometer, and I’m physically feeling better than I have in quite a while, although my sugars are still ridiculously high. And, even better, he did his residency at Drexel University, working at a hospital only blocks away from my apartment, so he knows other doctors in Philadelphia to switch me over to once I’m back at school.

Of course, I’m very upset, and I’m very angry. There is, and probably never will be, any real explanation as to why this happened to me, which, for a person who revels in finding even the most minuscule facts that lead up to an event, is an extremely frustrating thing. I’m angry because I can’t seem to manage to gain any more weight, and I’m tired of having my clothes hanging off my body. I’m angry because I now have to give myself four shots of insulin a day, along with stabbing myself countless times with a needle to take my blood sugar. I’m angry because once my sugar is regulated, I’m going to have to wear an insulin pump and likely a glucose monitor all the time, which, although better options to stabbing myself with needles all the time, are still cumbersome and a very scary thing to have to deal with in my brain. And I’m angry because I don’t want to have to make time to deal with it. Because, even though some amazing advancements have been made, and there’s a good chance there’s a cure a few years around the corner, this will change my entire life plan. Medical emergencies don’t fit into my life plan.

But, no matter what, I’m going to have to keep my head up and learn to laugh about it. Because, regardless of whether or not I want to, I have to live with it. And I’m learning how to live with it. And the only way to do that is to not let the scariness of it all consume me. So I’m just not going to. And I’m going to live my life exactly how I want to, and I’m not going to let diabetes stop me.

And maybe look at a lot of diabetes memes.