The burden of me, which is me.

You know how some some people have that laissez faire attitude towards Life, while some others have that let’s-grab-it-by-the-balls belief? I used to think I was the latter but I’m not so sure anymore.

Recently, my diabetes control has been terrible. I reckon it’s mainly work stress (amongst some other nitty gritty stuff). While I understand that it’s not worth sacrificing my health for it, I’m not quite sure how else to handle it.

So I’m turning 30 this year and I’ve been questioning my mortality. I know it’s a little too young to be morbid but I’ve been a diabetic for 13 years now. Compared to someone else who got diagnosed at a much later stage, my odds are not good. Even the good doctor said it himself that I’ll have to work much harder than a middle-aged person.

Then it struck me. The very plausible reason why I’m so anti-babies and insisting on wanting to be Miss Xena is because I don’t know how many years I have left. I may be wrong and live to 108 years old but who am I kidding? My control has not been optimum all these years so I’m actually a walking time bomb. In fact, my life is like a land mine. One wrong move and I’ll have a co-morbidity blowing up in my face. Haven’t I already been struck by the illness lightning multiple times in my short life?

Plus, the words of my ex-friend keep ringing in my head all these years. Even though he confessed to liking me, he said he’ll have to seriously think twice about living the rest of his life with me because the result of me being a burden in later years is very real. Yes, I’m a burden. Like, ouch.

So. I think I’m going to have to rethink my options in life. I should take the stand of X who wants to remain single forever because he’s afraid that he cannot provide happiness and responsibility to his new family. Likewise, I wouldn’t want my poor husband to be a widower at a young age. I should be less selfish.



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