The Sugar Moon

Coming to Terms with the Sweetness I Keep

When I first heard the word 'diabetes' applied to me, it felt like a line was drawn through my old life. Suddenly, everything I’d taken for granted—simple joys, spontaneity, even food—had to be renegotiated. At first, it felt unfair, almost alien. I felt like a vampire who could no longer see the sun.

But over time, I began to see that change is not a curse and more of a mindset change. Living with diabetes is a kind of mindfulness training I didn’t ask for but eventually grew into. It taught me that self-discipline isn’t punishment; it’s self-care in disguise. There’s power in knowing your own patterns, in being aware of your body’s quiet dialogues.

Living with diabetes means learning to love life’s slower rhythms, its quieter light. We may not always dance in the sun, but we can still find peace, depth, and even beauty in the moonlight.

“The Sugar Moon”
I woke one dawn and felt it burn—  
the light that others claim with ease.  
My veins sang hymns too sweet, too stern,  
a crimson curse beneath the knees.
Now night consents to be my friend,  
its shadows cool, its stars polite.  
I trace my numbers, measure ends,  
a careful thirst that guards the night.
Once I was wild for honeyed sin,  
for careless bites, for golden rain;  
but now I sip what’s measured thin,  
a drop, a test, a quiet pain.
So call me vampire if you must,  
one who counts the blood for truth.  
The sun will rise for someone else—  
I’ll bow to dusk, and keep my youth.