Diabulimia (N): the manipulation by diabetic patients of insulin in order to lose weight.

I was 12 years old the first time I was self conscious about my body, and it would not be the last.

Fast forward to age 14 - I was depressed, diabetic, full of teenage angst, and surrounded by unrealistic expectations associated with physical appearance. Over the span of the next four years, I started rebelling against myself in silence. Cutting and burning my skin, bingeing on thousands of calories worth of food and forcing myself to throw it up, and involving myself in toxic relationships - anything to make me feel. I told no one, and I made it my life's mission to see how far I could go without anyone finding out how much I truly hated myself.

To say it was a slippery slope would be the understatement of the century. It quickly escalated to an obsessive ritual - I couldn't get through the day without self harming, purging, or both. As with any addiction, I built up a tolerance. It got to the point where purging once wasn't good enough. Self harm didn't do anything for me anymore. No matter what I did, I couldn't achieve the satisfaction I used to get from those behaviors. This ultimately led to an attempt to take my own life, and even that didn't seem to clear the fog in my mind. I felt like there was nothing in the world that could make me feel anything, so I stopped caring altogether. I shut down completely, and, from my perspective, I'd lost all control in my life. For obvious reasons, I was on suicide watch, put in treatment, and forced to deal with what I'd put myself and my family through. I felt alone. Out of control. Powerless. Crazy. And then, I got sick.

I was miserably ill. I ran a fever of 103 degrees, I was vomiting uncontrollably, and I ended up in the emergency room with Diabetic Ketoacidosis No one could figure out the root of the problem - it was believed that the ketones (too many ketones in the blood, resulting in the blood becoming acidic and poisonous) byproduct produced when the body breaks down fats for energy when there aren't any carbohydrates left to break down in the body) were just a result of a viral infection I'd contracted. But it also could have been the other way around, meaning the ketones put me at greater risk for illness, so no one knew for sure what action to take. They said all they could do was help lessen the intensity of the symptoms. Even today, no one knows what was wrong with me.

But after three weeks of misery, I was up and moving again. And I'd realized something - I had lost 23 pounds. It was a kind of satisfaction I had never experienced before, and people were noticing. Commenting. Complimenting. Losing weight had made me less invisible. It gave me something to control. And thus began the experimenting.

I had never been a fan of math, but weight math gave me a high that I didn't even think possible. Calorie counting, exercising, purging...they were all numbers I could control, and it was my new obsession. A week of trial and error came and went, and I had confirmed my hypothesis: having a blood sugar greater than 500 for more than 6 hours gives you ketones, and ketones make you lose weight without having to do anything.

This sparked a dance with the devil that almost killed me. My blood sugars were so high for such long periods of time, I was basically aging years in just weeks. I was losing my vision. I couldn't walk up stairs without being winded. I lost sensitivity in my fingertips and toes. I slept 14 hours every day, and I was still too tired to function. I purged so much that all I could vomit was blood, and the sores in my mouth and throat were so painful I wouldn't eat for days. I was killing myself, and I'd never felt more alive. I was virtually manic, so all anyone could see was that I was tired, happy, and losing weight. No one knew my secret, and that fact alone fueled the fire just as much as losing weight did.

But when I got to my quarterly diabetic appointment, I was caught red handed. My blood sugar was checked on the spot, and it was so high it couldn't be read on the meter - this was concerning considering the meter read numbers up to 600. I was confirmed to have extra large ketones (enough to put me in a coma) and an A1C also too high to be read on the machine in that clinic. It was later determined that the A1C was 15.6, and since the goal is to be below 7, every doctor in the place was basically trying to make sure I didn't drop where I stood. My appointment was cut short and I was transported to the main hospital for admission - but I didn't go without a fight. I kicked and screamed and fought tooth and nail to keep my power, but ultimately I ended up with an IV drip and a suicide watch attendant (or, as I called her, my babysitter). I spent the next week in a medical hospital, the next two in a psychiatric hospital, and three months in partial hospitalization and intensive outpatient treatment. It was the hardest time of my short life, and I struggle everyday to find the strength to choose recovery.

If you or anyone you know has Diabetes and exhibits symptoms such as:

contact a specialist immediately. This is a matter of life or death. No one should endure this slow, painful suicide. And if you're suffering personally, I assure you - you are worth recovery.

Help starts with awareness: you can be part of the solution. You can help end the stigma surrounding mental health disorders. Share this article. Do research. Educate yourself. Be a support system for your loved ones.