Willemijn, 19
I'm Willemijn, I'm 19 years old and I'm from The Netherlands. I was diagnosed with diabetes type 1 at age 4, and the trouble with it began when I was 13 or 14 years old. I lived in a foster-home and they were treating me like I was diabetes instead of having it. They even weighed my food. I got so sick and tired of it, plus I wanted to be just like all the other kids in school. So I quit taking insulin just because I hated the fact I was "different". When I just acted like I didn't have it, I wouldn't have it, I thought. I also began to steal food and skip meals. I would take a whole bag of cookies and ate it while I was reading so I wouldn't think while I was eating. Or when everybody was done eating I took some left over dry potatoes, just to eat. I felt disgusting. But I didn't eat at school, except for chocolate bars from the vending machine. But after a while my foster-parents found out and they checked every time I had to take my insulin, so I could not skip doses. But I didn't quit eating. I became really fat but I couldn't quit eating.
Then my foster-parents sent me to a juvenile-home, they could not handle me anymore, because I started smoking and began smoking marijuana, and my grades at school were absolutely bad. But then I got control of my diabetes because all those people who were supposed to take care of me didn't understand it. And so I wound up in the hospital with DKA a lot.The people from the group-homes checked me when I took insulin and checked if I was doing it right, under the direction of the hospital. They said I suffered chronic depression, but I didn't believe that, and I didn't even think about having an ED. Every time I began to quit doses they thought I was suicidal and checked me even more.
So the last few years I lived in a juvenile-home and I never learned to do it on my own. They checked me till the last minute I was there, they gave me my diabetes-stuff back when I walked out the door to never come back. I think they only made it worse. They made my healthy while living there but they never even helped me with my problem. I think that's also because they can not diagnose diabulimia. I never got the right help.
So there I was, all on my own, just turned 18 and no knowledge how to take care of myself. The first week I did everything I was supposed to do but then I started to quit doses again. I began with skipping one dose a day and so on. Thats going on for a year exacty today. I think my story is very common, but it's so difficult. The people I
told about my conclusion I have diabulimia tell me to “just take my insulin”. The only-one that understood was a friend who suffers bulimia herself.
It's like a mechanism, I can't seem to stop with what I'm doing, it seems it has control over me. I want to be healthy, I want to stop hurting myself and my boyfriend, but I'm so scared. I'm scared to gain weight and become fat again. On one side I really want and need help, on the other side I don't want to get help because it's making me happy to see I lost weight, to see my belly doesn't stick forward that much. It's for the first time in my life I can look in the mirror and think: “Well, I look nice today.” Only since a few weeks. And I'm still not really satisfied, it's better, but still not enough.
I'm so confused, and so scared. I don't think the doctor understands how bad it is, and I can't do it on my own. I'm just so scared and I don't know what to feel or think or do. It's like on one side there's the good and well-thinking me who wants me to be healthy and wants to live as long as possible, but on the other side theres the proud, stuck-up me, who wants to be pretty and live her life like she wants, don't have to be who all those people want her to be. And it's an equal fight, sometimes theres the “good” me, sometimes the enraged me. With sometimes I mean every time I think about it, every minute.
I'm scared but when I think about the life I want to have I really want to get help and fight this thing. I can't do this alone, I need help but I don't think the people who are supposed to help me (doctors etc.) take it very seriously.
Then my foster-parents sent me to a juvenile-home, they could not handle me anymore, because I started smoking and began smoking marijuana, and my grades at school were absolutely bad. But then I got control of my diabetes because all those people who were supposed to take care of me didn't understand it. And so I wound up in the hospital with DKA a lot.The people from the group-homes checked me when I took insulin and checked if I was doing it right, under the direction of the hospital. They said I suffered chronic depression, but I didn't believe that, and I didn't even think about having an ED. Every time I began to quit doses they thought I was suicidal and checked me even more.
So the last few years I lived in a juvenile-home and I never learned to do it on my own. They checked me till the last minute I was there, they gave me my diabetes-stuff back when I walked out the door to never come back. I think they only made it worse. They made my healthy while living there but they never even helped me with my problem. I think that's also because they can not diagnose diabulimia. I never got the right help.
So there I was, all on my own, just turned 18 and no knowledge how to take care of myself. The first week I did everything I was supposed to do but then I started to quit doses again. I began with skipping one dose a day and so on. Thats going on for a year exacty today. I think my story is very common, but it's so difficult. The people I
told about my conclusion I have diabulimia tell me to “just take my insulin”. The only-one that understood was a friend who suffers bulimia herself.
It's like a mechanism, I can't seem to stop with what I'm doing, it seems it has control over me. I want to be healthy, I want to stop hurting myself and my boyfriend, but I'm so scared. I'm scared to gain weight and become fat again. On one side I really want and need help, on the other side I don't want to get help because it's making me happy to see I lost weight, to see my belly doesn't stick forward that much. It's for the first time in my life I can look in the mirror and think: “Well, I look nice today.” Only since a few weeks. And I'm still not really satisfied, it's better, but still not enough.
I'm so confused, and so scared. I don't think the doctor understands how bad it is, and I can't do it on my own. I'm just so scared and I don't know what to feel or think or do. It's like on one side there's the good and well-thinking me who wants me to be healthy and wants to live as long as possible, but on the other side theres the proud, stuck-up me, who wants to be pretty and live her life like she wants, don't have to be who all those people want her to be. And it's an equal fight, sometimes theres the “good” me, sometimes the enraged me. With sometimes I mean every time I think about it, every minute.
I'm scared but when I think about the life I want to have I really want to get help and fight this thing. I can't do this alone, I need help but I don't think the people who are supposed to help me (doctors etc.) take it very seriously.