Only two days into the new term and i am already completely worn out. My steps so heavy as i walk to the bus stop each morning, pausing every now and then to lean against a tree or sit exhausted on the pave side, trying to catch up with my quick beating heart. I finally woke up at 12.30 pm this afternoon, and have spent too long binging, purging, flushing the toilet over and over again, flushing away the pain. Staring at my blotchy face in the mirror, longing to air my desperation with a river of tears, but these gray bleak eyes just won't let go. I only left the house to make the inevitable trip to the supermarket, i am losing this fight, as my bank account runs dry i move onto credit cards. I really wish i had never applied for them at all, but i am just not strong enough to say no. When i got home i sat in my bedroom on the floor, by my drawer full of food, shoveling biscuits in one by one. Like a filthy, starving animal.

My doctor phoned me on Monday. She has just returned from maturnity leave and wanted to discuss my last urine test results. I had asumed it was all clear, as it was taken quite a while ago, back when i reluctantly saw that diabetic nurse. Unfortunately they found abnormal traces of albumin, a spillage of protein into my blood which indicates kidney disease. She needs me to go to the clinic and i'll have to start taking tablets in an attempt to sheild further deterioration. She's relucant to prescribe any herself before clearing it with an endocrinologist, due to my young age and the problems we've had with finding the right medications in the past.

I'm not scared, not overly shocked, just a little numb. I expected it really, my creatin levels were severly high when i was admitted to hospital. I'm trying not to think about what this might mean for the future, surely it can't be too serious. It's my fault anyway, for letting my sugar levels rise so much, falling so often into the sugary faze of hyperglycemia.

I'm feeling very triggered at the moment. Skinny celebrities cover the front pages of endless magazines. Heat, OK! Glamour, Vogue. all printed with lithe matchstick body's with perfectly applied makeup. Airbrushed or not, i am envious. Every glance or comment i recieve, ever slight trace of my body, i know what they must be thinking. I am hideous.

One of our soaps over here, Coronation street, has a diabetic character in it, Katy. Yesterday i watched painfully, as she tried to commit suicide by smashing her insulin catriages in the sink, blowing the glass to shards and glitter, trickles of potent liquid running down the plughole. With the curtains shut and television noise in the bakground, she eat mouthful after mouthful of sugar, even mixing it into fizzy drinks, fiercly gulping them down with thirst. She eventually passed out on the sofa. After being found an ambulance was called for 'an unresponsive diabetic in ketoacidosis'. Next week she dies, slipping from a restful coma into the dark.

It is having such an affect on me, i just can't explain it. I've been there, unable to move, laying breathless and gasping, so, so weak. It is hell. Deep down i know i am lucky to be here, but that just fuels my guilt even more. I didn't deserve to make it.

It is difficult to admit i am dependent on insulin, without it i would not be able to live. The idea is just so tempting, spinning around and around in fireworks until it all filters out. It is so easy to omit that much crucial medicine, when i do not care about myself, a pin cushion receiving pricks of a needle, feeding my body with light. Wasted light.

I read in a magazine that diabetics are twice as likely to suffer from depression as others. It didn't suprise me in the slighest. When your first told about it, when they explain to you about the injections, the finger pricking and diet requirments, they never mention what happens inside. How you feel when you have to eat snacks in class and everyone else asks why, when a teacher comes with you to the bathroom while you take your insulin on a school trip, and a girl from the year below asks if you've wet yourself. The embarrassment of gaining weight and having to eat a mini chocolate bar before P.E. I remember when i was first diagnosed, i used to lock myself away and squirt my dosages down the toilet. I didn't want to take them, didn't want to admit this was happening to me. Another flaw to add to the continuing list of ailments, another break in the perfect image that i craved.

I feel sick to the stomach. My legs ache and i just want to sleep. I haven't taken my fluoxetine for two days as the pharmacy messed up. I can't think straight, but when can i ever?

I've always been so vunurable, so lost. I don't think that will ever change. I'm always going to be down here, looking up on the world. A world where i will never fit, never belong.