“I just get so fucking tired,” she whispers. “Tired of my stupid pod coming off and fucking things up. Tired of waking up low. Tired of going too high when I’m having a perfectly good day and there’s no goddamn reason for it. Tired of trying to do everything right and this stupid disease still manages to pull the rug out from underneath me. It’s claustrophobic, just inescapable. And it’s lonely, so fucking lonely, when I’m the only one who understands, who’s carrying the weight of this disease, the unpredictability of it. I’m so tired—”
Sadly accurate
