It’s hard to live when you don’t trust your body, and no matter what you do, it continues to disappoint you.

Today I found out I may have another autoimmune disease. I was notified by email of my recent lab results. And a short note from my doctor: you have ______. Here are my medication and dosage recommendations.

No call. No explanation. No consultation. All I had was one abnormal test result and potentially another incurable disease that meant I would have to take a pill every day for the rest of my life.

It’s not so bad. It’s manageable. They all said the same thing when I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes six years ago. Is this how I’m rewarded?

With the coldness of my doctor’s note (I haven’t been able to get a hold of her by the way and I plan to get a second opinion), I felt like another number, another rotten, expensive body.

What will happen 10 years from now? Will I be dead? What’s the point? Does it matter that I ran 10 miles last week? My body is slowing shutting down on itself.

Thankfully there are treatments that let me live. But what about my quality of life? And what happens when so many systems have shut down on themselves that I can’t live?

I can’t trust it anymore. I’m not sure I want to. In addition to diabetes and this new development I was also recently diagnosed with another chronic condition (again no cure) that requires me to catherize myself to relieve intense pain.

And I’m not even 30. You can see my disillusionment. Sometimes when I pass the metro or a bus on the street, I think about what if I jumped in front of it? Another number vanquished from humanity.

But I never do it because I have hope that all of these hardships will be worth it. I wish I could give you more than that but it’s all that I have at this point. And I hope one day that hope will mean something. For now it gives me life.

So I turn off my phone and take the next train home.