Bootlegger in Paradise

I should apparently stop blogging...it seems that upon a new post I spontaneously combust into seizures and basic hypoglycemic misery. I, of course, suffer nothing except a busted up tongue and a few sore muscles but my sweet Justin endures too much. I sometimes don't know why he bothers and I say that without expectation or exaggeration. Like any human, he pushes my buttons but he takes on so much difficulty and misery in being with me and while I am grateful and in love beyond words it doesn't seem like it could possibly be worth it.

I have come to learn that I am generally a miserable bitch of a bitch for about a week post-episode. I have no idea if these bizarre, ephemeral mood swings are a lovely perk for everyone who has hypoglycemic seizures or a special little symptom I've rounded up just for me. However, this time I have worked exceedingly hard, or so I thought, to curb this strange streak of nastiness as I slowly start to feel like myself. Unfortunately I came to find out tonight that not only have I been faking it poorly, but I've been hurting Justin in the process.

I see Haley having a tough time sleeping. I see my sweet husband picking up all my slack and patiently doing his job and mine while I am running around doing jack shit, visiting with friends, and depositing Haley in his care more often than not. I don't know where I lose myself or why but the consistency is deeply troubling. It's like with extreme low blood sugar comes extreme abuse of my Justin.

My first inclination in such situations is to run and hide. I hate dealing with emotions, I hate talking, and most of all I hate talking about MY emotions...hoark. I'm of the mind to take the baby and run for a weekend, leave the world behind and let poor Justin reclaim his manhood and self-respect with a good bottle of scotch and a titty bar. But in my heart I know this is not the answer - running from the problem is never the answer. I suppose, deep inside I only want to run from diabetes but that's a solid ticket for a very short ride. Nothing left to do but chin up, pretend to be a grown up, apologize for being an asshole, and hope for the best.