‘My body is mine’: Inside the struggle to treat diabetes and other medical conditions
My body is my own.
My doctor is my best friend.
My food is my medicine.
I’m my own person.
It’s the greatest privilege of my life.
When I’m in pain, I know exactly what to do.
And when I feel good, I get up and move forward.
My body can do anything.
It can be in pain and get better.
My mind can focus on the things I want to accomplish.
My feet can walk again.
And my brain can focus more.
My brain can do whatever it wants.
The only thing that’s missing is my body.
My own body.
The story of the life I’ve led and the stories of the people who have followed me is my story.
And I want my story to be told more than I want the world to know.
I want it to be seen and heard by as many people as possible.
For those of you who are reading this, I want you to know that it is not all about me.
I want it not to be about me but about everyone else.
Because there are more than one way to live, and the only way to be happy is to be yourself.
My family is one of the most important things in my life, and my mom has taught me that everything I do has meaning.
She has taught us how to say thank you, and to love and be loved.
And she has taught that you do not have to take everything for granted.
She is the one who will make sure I have a life where I am happy.
She teaches me that you can love the things you have in your life and still have a fulfilling life.
She taught me the power of gratitude.
She instilled in me the belief that we can achieve what we want, and that life will always be good.
And for me, that is the power I have brought to my life and the power that she has given me.
The story of my mother, and of my family, is one that I want people to see and hear.
In the past, I have always wanted to tell the story of a single woman.
My mom was a single mother of four, but I wanted to do something about that.
In fact, I wanted my story told.
So, I did a little research and found that a woman is as likely to die by suicide as by homicide.
And the statistics are even worse.
And it’s not just in the United States, but in most parts of the world.
There is a reason why I chose to focus on a single story.
When you think about it, the most vulnerable are the ones most at risk.
It is the stories that bring hope.
And so, when I was younger, I was so scared of everything.
I felt that I didn’t belong anywhere.
I didn, and so I was scared of all the other kids who wanted to be me, or the adults who wanted me.
I was afraid of what others thought of me, and I was very afraid of my own body and my own self.
But then I started to listen.
I listened to the stories my mother told, and they were very clear.
I learned to listen to myself.
I got better.
And now, as a mom of three, I’m finally in a place where I can share that story with as many families as possible and with as much understanding as I can.
I am grateful to my mother for teaching me that when I do the things that I wanted, I will always have a happy and fulfilling life, too.
And in my own words, I would like to share with you some of my most memorable moments with her.
When I was 15, I left my home in Chicago and moved to New York City.
I lived in the West Village and went to a different school, but my parents were not happy with the changes.
My father and mother were not pleased.
They wanted me to go back to their home.
They said that I needed to come home.
And there was no way to do that.
So I did.
I found a new home.
But when I came home, I didn: my mother had given up on me, my father had abandoned me.
And because I had to deal with all of that, I became angry.
I began to hurt people.
I became violent.
And then, I began taking my life in my hands.
And you know what?
I was ready for it.
I knew it was not going to be easy.
It would take a lot of work and patience, but at least I could move on.
I had no choice.
I could not take that pain and anger with me into my life or into my children.
I did not want to leave.
But that was not the point.
I needed that.
I need that to get back home.
So in my mind, I said to myself, “Mom, my body is not mine.”
And my mother answered