To my dear (useless) pancreas, I ask you...why? Why did you choose this life? What made you decide enough was enough and you were done giving my body what it craves and needs? Why can't you just give me a little insulin now and then? Maybe when I eat, like you used to? What happened to the good old days?

You know, the days where you actually did your job? I get it, I really do. Some days (every day), I don't want to get out of bed and go to school or work or take care of any of my responsibilities, either. I just want to lay around and do, well, nothing. But I drag myself out of bed and get on with my life. You, on the other hand, are the laziest piece of nothingness I have ever met. I would give anything, ANYTHING, for you to just do something.

You need to stop using me for my body. You're just... there. I'm sick of it.

Think of everything you've put me through.

Remember our first hospital visit? I sure do. You were a mess, and I was scared. Please, tell me, what made you do it? The doctors all told me it wasn't my fault, that they don't know what causes this kind of condition. They've been researching for years trying to figure out what makes stupid pancreases, like yourself, stop giving out their insulin. The doctors have also been trying to figure out what will get you guys going again, but nothing. You've given them nothing. They've come up with nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

You are nothing.

My first question after being diagnosed was if I'd still be able to eat ice cream, and thank god for the doctors in history that have been able to squeeze enough research out of you to develop injectable insulin to pick up on your slack. The answer was yes, I would be able to eat ice cream, I would be able to eat whatever I want, actually...with a cost. With every piece of food that has any amount of sugar (not just candy, but bread, fruit, almost everything), would have to come a shot.

Pancreas, I HATED SHOTS. I was terrified! The next few days, while you began your vacation, I recovered from the Diabetic Keto-acidosis you sent me into. I struggled for three days in the hospital, sitting through course after course about testing my blood sugar, giving injections, counting carbs, what to do with low blood sugar and high blood sugar, how to handle exercise, and just how to manage my diabetes in general.

Then, when I got back to school the following week, the questions came at me. All the questions that I soon found out, would not stop. The same questions that I am still asked today over and over. You were nowhere to be found. You didn't help me answer or explain. Why wouldn't you just do your job?

Thankfully, I'm stronger than you, and I got through it. I got through the first couple of weeks with diabetes. They were so overwhelming, and not only was I judged by my friends, but it was hard to simply live. From never giving a thought about what I threw in my mouth, to never going a second without a math equation to figure out my carbs and insulin popping into my head or a worry about where my blood sugar was at was ridiculous! That was out of line! Why couldn't you just function like you should again? Then would have been a good time to bust out some insulin and say haha, jokes on you! But, no...you were nothing.

Thankfully, my friends eventually were accepting, and the hype in the grade that "Ali has the diabeetus" went down. That doesn't mean the questions and comments ever stopped. Remember them? The ones we heard just yesterday even?

Are you sure you can eat that?

But, you don't look THAT fat.

Did you eat too much sugar, is that why you got diabetes?

I was going to get you [insert any food/drink] but then I remembered you had diabetes so I got you this water!

Do you have the good or the bad kind?

I know what it's like, my great-grandma's second cousin twice removed has it!

Have you tried this diet?

Is it contagious?

Do the needles hurt?

Is that a pager on your belt?

My uncle died of diabetes, maybe you should cure yours.

Uhm...yes, let me get right on that...I will go and "cure" my diabetes right away, thank you for the advice. I get the dumbest questions and advice, and I understand it coming from people who don't know about the disease. Yes, it's annoying and can definitely come across as ignorant, but none of these comments are comparable to the frustration that YOU give me.

You should know better! The rest of my organs know how to act, how to function in public, so what makes it so hard to be you?

Are you depressed? Mad? Upset? Bitter? Jealous?

You know what, I don't care what you're feeling. You shouldn't be holding grudges for years like this. You've taken over my life, in the worst way possible, and I'm sick of it.

Tired of the nothing you are. You've almost killed me. Twice. Your stubborn pancreas minions have taken my friends' lives. You just make everything harder than it needs to be and harder than it should be, so please, this is my one last plea,

Will you think about it?

Come out of your hiding, and work. Give the doctors some clues, and give me some hope. Because I'm sick and tired of what you've become...

Nothing.