At 2.4 (43), on a ferry in the middle of the channel, queuing for dinner and walking the knife edge between consciousness, and unconsciousness, wondering how the fuck I got so low without feeling it whilst doing nothing more physically exerting than walking off the coach and onto the ferry, having been 7.6 (137) half an hour ago. When I ate some chocolate.
That's somewhere I really never want to be again.
When they told me I'd have to wait another 15 minutes to get the vegetarian option, I just wanted to scream. I'd been standing in this queue, with my head spinning, shoving glucose tablets into myself like I had seconds left to live, and then were fucking denying me food? I needed food! I couldn't get any food, but the only thought left was that if I didn't eat anything right now I was going to pass out, or start crying, or have a seizure, or...
The worst thing was, I didn't even know what was going to happen to me. It was a hard to treat low, I stayed in the 2s for about half an hour: my brain was starving. As my blood sugar came up to 2.9, though, I realised I was standing in the middle of the ferry food court, with nobody who had a clue what was going on. I realised I should just scrap the vegetarian option (whatever it was) and buy a plate of chips. I knew I'd been acting irrationally anyway, because I was SO freaking hungry and low that nothing made sense anymore.
In the back of my mind, I know it wasn't my fault: I wasn't in control.
But that doesn't stop me feeling kinda pathetic.
Back from Florida!
1 hour ago