Diabetes and Distance

My problem in writing about experiences with diabetes lies with my complete lack of distance from diabetes itself. The daily routines are ritual: Multiple pokings of fingers, followed by measurement of blood-sugar; fussing over what to eat; dosing measurement and injection of insulin. What else can I expect from a chronic disease? Chronic, Khronos. Time. Diabetes is a disease set to time, like music, almost like jazz, but without the slightest pleasure or enjoyment derived from listening to it. The erratic beat persists either a few short years (for those diabetics unconcerned about the forthcoming destruction sugar will wreak upon their body) or a lifetime (for those stubborn, survivalist diabetics such as myself). There is never a moment of distance. I am always aware of this condition, the way a teenaged boy seems always aware of sex. The human body and temperament (regardless of the latter's nature) function poorly together when required to maintain manual control of blood-sugar levels. I cannot escape the center of the thing itself. I cannot escape to the periphery and look in upon it as an outside observer. I cannot see it with "a stranger's eye and a stranger's severity".