I'm 25 years old now, and I've always believed the life script I received was like "The Story of Rose," casting me as the female lead.

Since elementary school, I've been a standout child. Unlike most kids, I never had a sweet tooth for snacks.

In high school, I had excellent academic performance, always ranking first in the liberal arts grade. During my senior year, when teachers and classmates asked me which university I wanted to attend, I said Zhejiang University. In the previous mock exam, I ranked 15th in the city, and I was full of hope for the future. This was the most confident phase of my life.

After the peak often comes the trough. In 2017, I took the college entrance exam, and that year's test was very difficult. I scored only 62 points above the first-tier cutoff, ranking 2,487th in the province. With this score, there was no chance for me to get into Zhejiang University.

When filling out the application, my parents advised me to choose a local "double non" institution—neither a "985" nor a "211" university. I followed their advice and applied to a university in my small hometown.

Unsurprisingly, I was quickly admitted. Many classmates said I had lost my mind, but I just smiled faintly and said I wanted to stay close to home.

In 2021, I graduated. I didn't choose to pursue graduate school, and at the time, I didn't pass the civil service exam either. My university grades were mediocre, with no notable awards to speak of, and I faced immense difficulties when sending out job applications after graduation. Fortunately, I was hired by a small local company.

Back then, people would sometimes ask me about my college entrance exam score. When I told them the truth, no one believed me because my score was high enough to attend a decent university in a big city. At that company, I often worked overtime and was frequently overloaded, enduring enormous mental and physical stress while seeing no real future prospects.

This was the low point of my life, but fortunately, I wasn't planning to resign myself to that kind of existence.

I pushed through the pressure, working during the day and studying at night. Just one year later, I successfully passed the exam for a provincial-level public institution in my hometown, becoming the envy of many once again. My pre-employment medical checkup showed no issues, and I felt absolutely incredible!

Ever since I was little, people always said I was a pretty girl, and boys would often approach me. But I was always "picky," feeling like I hadn't met the right one. That was until the year I started working—when I fell in love!

It was just like in a drama: we ate together, attended concerts, watched movies, visited zoos, went hiking, saw the ocean, he accompanied me to buy a car, and I went with him to look at houses. The time spent with him was easy and joyful. After three months of dating, he hugged me and confessed his feelings. In that moment, I realized I was crying—tears of happiness...

If my story ended here, you might think it was utterly ordinary. But for me, if only my life were just this side of the story—how wonderful that would be!

Now, let me tell you about the other side of my 25 years of life:

In May 2009, I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. I was only 10 years old at the time.

With a fasting blood glucose level of 15 mmol/L, I was already in diabetic ketoacidosis. Lying in the hospital bed, my consciousness was unclear, and at that time I didn't realize what this disease meant or how it would affect my life. I didn't cry, but I remember all my relatives who came to see me were in tears - it was the first time I saw my grandfather and father cry.

All the other patients in my room were middle-aged or elderly with type 2 diabetes. Most of them had uncontrolled blood sugar due to poor dietary habits or irregular lifestyles, and were hospitalized due to complications. As a result, I became a cautionary tale. My relatives would warn their children when visiting me: "Look, he got diabetes at such a young age. See if you still dare to eat snacks."

This kind of talk followed me throughout my adolescence. At every family gathering, someone would inevitably bring me up as an example. Back then, even I didn't fully understand that type 1 diabetes is completely different from type 2 and has absolutely nothing to do with snacking. I just felt deeply wronged because I'd never been fond of snacks since childhood.

Getting diabetes wasn't my fault! Yet I can't defend myself.

After being discharged from the hospital and returning to my fourth-grade class, I didn't know what "disease stigma" meant at that time, nor did I think about hiding my condition. A girl who enjoyed bullying me directly shouted in class: "Stay away from her, diabetes is contagious." I was extremely angry because my classmates became afraid to play with me.

At that time, I didn't know diabetes isn't contagious at all. Filled with anger and fear, I ran home to ask my grandparents, only to see their tears once again.

After being diagnosed, my parents told me I could never eat sweets again—no snacks, no cola, no ice cream. I took their words to heart and truly believed I couldn't touch these things for the rest of my life.

Ten years later, I finally learned: As long as I pay attention to how and how much I eat, and properly administer insulin, I can actually eat anything!

I used to know nothing about hypoglycemia until I experienced it myself after getting sick: in severe cases, I would lose consciousness and sweat profusely. Countless times during class, when I felt unwell, I would secretly eat something.

When filling out college applications for the national college entrance exam (gaokao), my scores could have gotten me into a good university in a big city. However, my parents insisted I apply to a local non-first-tier university because they wanted to take better care of me. They weren't confident about the school cafeteria's food and worried that dorm life would lead to irregular routines, which could harm my health.

I accepted my parents' advice and appeared calm on the surface, but on the day I received the admission letter, I cried secretly all night.

For all four years of college, I never lived on campus and commuted every day because my home was only 20 minutes away. This was the house my parents bought after I was diagnosed with diabetes at age 10. They had planned early, hoping I could attend a nearby university—and I fulfilled their wish.

For these four years, I never pulled all-nighters, never went to parties with classmates, never stayed up binge-watching shows with them, never experienced campus romance. My personality became increasingly introverted, and I gradually faded into obscurity at university.

Because of this illness, I've missed out on so much.

After graduation, work, and civil service exams, let's fast forward to my romantic relationship.

I met a guy who pursued me and confessed his love to me. Among all the suitors, I also felt he was my type.

Three months into our relationship, I confessed to him that I had type 1 diabetes, and he hugged me saying he didn't mind. I cried, feeling like the happiest person in the world.

Four months into dating, after eating together one day, I felt unwell and suggested we eat less in the future. He was confused: "Can't you just take insulin and eat anything?" I explained I'd rather control my diet when possible. He fell silent, and the next day he broke up with me - because his greatest joy in life was eating.

I begged him through tears, but he refused. Yet when I finally accepted the breakup, he changed his mind and came back.

Five months into the relationship, he broke up with me again. This time, his excuse was that his cousin told him children born to type 1 diabetics have four times higher risk of congenital heart disease. Later consultations with specialists confirmed no research supports this claim. I went to him, suggesting genetic testing if we wanted children, emphasizing solutions over problems. I could see his struggle, but eventually he stayed.

On and off again, our always-turbulent relationship entered its tenth month when a company health check revealed my elevated cholesterol and blood lipids. He, like a startled bird, proposed our third breakup. This time, I was completely blocked—even though we'd already met each other's parents, those ten months of affection flew away like a little bird.

The cruelest irony: One month after the breakup, as I returned to disciplined living, my cholesterol and blood lipids dropped back to normal ranges.

Looking back on those ten months of romance—from the moment he learned about my condition, his eyes no longer saw me as a person, only my illness. His uncle had poorly controlled type 2 diabetes that progressed to uremia; his mother claimed to know a type 1 diabetic who went blind at 40 and whose child also developed type 1. I received more "critical condition" warnings from him and his family in that period than I'd experienced in my entire life—until I truly believed I was dying.

These exaggerated truths and falsehoods became my original sin, stripping me of self-worth while kneeling in humiliation.

My beautiful face, my intelligence, the enviable career and family background that attracted him to me—all these seemed worthless in his distorted gaze.

This is so unfair!!!

Day and night I wept, overcome with agony—why me? Why can't my illness be cured? Why, despite all my efforts and sacrifices, can't I be like normal people?!

I wanted to end my life several times, but was stopped by my parents' tears—they were the ones who truly loved me.

I can't bear to leave them. My life is hard, but theirs is even harder. I'm their only child—what would they do if I were gone?

I am a diabetic patient, and I've come to accept this life circumstance.

The bitterness of hiding my diabetes for over a decade, the pain of being misunderstood, the sting of discrimination—those who hear about it might just say: "What a pity! How unfortunate! But that's just your fate!"

I'm more disciplined than anyone, yet many mistake my suffering as the result of my own lack of self-control.

Over these more than ten years, I experienced depression three times, yet never once forgot my injections; for over a decade, except for right after diagnosis, my blood sugar has remained stable, without a single episode of ketoacidosis; in these many years, I've seen too many people leave this world, yet I remain safe and sound.

Frankly, the physical suffering from this illness no longer troubles me—getting daily shots is manageable, I don't mind the pain or fear it. What frightens me most is actually others' misunderstanding and distancing.

I still maintain a disciplined life because my parents are still here, my grandparents too. The pressure I once felt in romantic relationships is gone—no longer burdened by guilt and self-blame over potential health concerns.

The road ahead is still long. Managing blood sugar is no longer a challenge for me, but I find myself yearning for love while dreading the possibility of lifelong loneliness.

"Late rain sweeps over the mountain ridge, gardenias bloom filling the courtyard with fragrance" — I am not a rose, I am a gardenia.

My life has not only its glamorous side A, but also its bitter side B. When I show you this authentic dual-sided life, please note—

I don't want your pity, nor your sympathy.

All I want is a little understanding and a gaze free from discrimination—clear and pure.

May we all manage our diabetes well and still live this life to the fullest!

Words from the President:

Gardenia is a type 1 diabetes survivor who has been living with the condition for 15 years. She just completed the questionnaire I posted yesterday. Beyond the personal story she shared, I'm sure everyone is particularly interested in her blood sugar management approach. After thorough verification and documentation, I'll share the details with all of you.

Every diabetes survivor is a beacon of health. I am looking for diabetes survivors to join the "Sweet Masters" group for long-term communication. In the future, we can also collaborate on more in-depth medical sociology research to uncover clues for curing diabetes.

If you are a Type 2 diabetic who has reached the stage where you no longer need injections or medication to maintain normal blood sugar levels;

If you are a Type 1 diabetic still in the "honeymoon period" or can maintain blood sugar within normal ranges using insulin.

At the same time, I also believe that the work done by the Recovery Foundation over the past eight years is meaningful, and I am willing to share my experiences and lessons. Please fill out this questionnaire — Diabetes "Recoverer" Information Collection

If you know someone who has recovered from diabetes, please share this article with them.