Body Image

I've talked before about Diabulimia (an eating disorder specific to diabetics in which they limit the amount of insulin they take/stop taking insulin in order to lose weight). What I didn't mention is that, statistically, girls with type 1 diabetes are 2.4 times as likely to develop an eating disorder, as girls without.

That's pretty freaky stuff. I, personally, do not have an eating disorder. In the past, I've suffered from undiagnosed binge eating disorder, but never bulimia, anorexia, or diabulimia. I'm not at all trying to discount having an eating disorder. It's extremely extremely serious, causes permanent damage to your health, and is overall incredibly dangerous. I'm really grateful that I don't have one.

But what I do want to say is that having type 1 diabetes caused me to have an intense over-awareness of my body and a resulting discomfort/shame of my body. Everything revolves around your body once you're diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. Your body is broken. It doesn't work right. You're constantly aware of it. Of every sensation. You constantly search for physical sensations to determine: Is my blood sugar high? Is it low? You worry and worry and worry about it, about your future body. Will I go blind? Will I lose my feet? You can't see your body is broken from the outside. You can cover up the scars, the injection sites. You can hide your insulin pump, or take shots and keep them in your bag. Some people don't even tell their friends they're a diabetic, and it's a pretty easy thing to hide.

I once had a friend refer to me as a model house. "Perfect on the outside, but inside nothing works. There's no running water. No heating." That really stuck with me. It didn't offend me or upset me, but it really meant something to me on a deeper level. I still strongly relate to it today.

In a way, I've found that being a "model house" makes it harder sometimes. You're broken. But no one can see it. People don't think there's really anything wrong with you. They won't know unless you tell them, and when you do they say things like "But you don't look sick." You don't really get free passes. People don't go easier on you. You look normal. You aren't at the hospital every day. Therefore, you're fine. You're perfectly fine.

I applied for special provisions for my HSC exams (the big, fat exams at the end of year 12 that determine your future) so that I could take lollies into the exam and my insulin pump and glucometer. I also got a little bit of extra time in case I had a low blood sugar or needed to leave the room. And oh boy, did the other kids at my school not approve. No one actually said it to my face. But I had multiple close friends come up to me and tell me that other kids I didn't know as well were asking them "Why does SHE get special provisions?!?" Because I looked normal. I was doing pretty well in school. Why on earth should I get special provisions?

But the weird thing about diabetes is that it does cause imperfections on the exterior, but you can hide them. For as long as I can remember, I've been ashamed of the little marks at injection sites, from shots, from insulin pump insertions, from finger pricks. I put my insulin pump in my bum rather than my stomach. The primary reason I keep doing it is that I have more nerve endings in my stomach and it hurts more to put it there. But I started doing it to hide the marks. If I wanted to wear a bikini, or if my shirt lifted up when I stretched, I didn't want people to see the set or see the blemishes it left behind. I used to worry so much about becoming an adult and having these markings all over my body. No one could see them because I was young and covered up, but the thoughts would linger in the deepest corner of my mine. Will anyone want to have an adult relationship with me, to marry me, to see me naked? Will they cringe in disgust?

Later I developed chronic cholecystitis (inflammation of the gallbladder) and acute appendicitis as a side effect of type 1 diabetes. I had to have both organs removed. I have three tiny scars now. One on my right side in between my hip and rib cage. One on my belly button. And one between my ribs. At the time the surgeon actually gave me the option to refuse the gallbladder surgery, and to wait and see if it flared up again. I had been vomiting for 18 hours because I had gone into diabetic ketoacidosis from the gallbladder infection spiking my blood sugar. Not for one second did I consider not having my gallbladder removed right then and there. But I mentally crossed off a few more things I couldn't do in my head. "Can't be a model. Can't wear anything that exposes my stomach." Of course I had never actually entertained the thought of being a model, but just having to cross off another thing I could never do, at such a young age, was excruciatingly painful for me.

Now the scars are little. They're even littler than a birthmark I have on my stomach, and I no longer feel inhibited by them. But I just remember that moment so vividly. I had so much rage. Not only did I have to suffer internally from my illness, but I was now branded by it too.

I've also talked about how diabetes can make you gain weight (because insulin converts energy to fat and excess insulin = excess fat). And boy did I gain weight. And boy is it difficult for me to lose that weight. And I needed to lose it. Not just for me to be happy or to feel pretty or to fit in with what the media or society values or whatever, but I needed to for my health. And yet, my body has resisted me every step of the way.

I don't have a healthy relationship with my body. I don't think I ever will. So many people say "Love your body. It's the only one you've got. It works hard to keep you alive every day. Treat it right." Well, my body isn't keeping my alive. My body is a suicidal, little cuss. It has tried to kill me on numerous occasions. It isn't keeping me alive. I'm keeping me alive. Doctors, and surgeons, and nurses, and phlebotomists, and medical researchers, and Banting & Best are keeping me alive.

So, what do you do then? What do you do with a body that doesn't love you or support you? I think perhaps that's the deepest reason why people with type 1 diabetes are more likely to develop an eating disorder. There are days I just want to slam my body against a wall until it's black and blue to punish it for everything it has done to me. But what is that really going to do? Nothing much. I guess, as a type 1 diabetic or anyone suffering from illness who struggles with body image, you just need to find something else to latch onto. Your family or friends or even yourself. And to treat your jerk of a body right for those reasons. Not for it. Because it is a total ass.