限界寸前

エマニュエル・モレノ・ロペス、メキシコ

この作品は非常に個人的な背景から生まれました。私の父と祖父母が糖尿病とともに生きていたのです。毎日その数値に向き合い、言葉なきストレスと闘う彼らの姿を見て育ったことは、私の心に深く刻まれました。彼らの経験はインスピレーションであると同時に、この戦いが身体だけでなく心においても闘われるものであるということを思い起こさせるものとなりました。.

“「限界間近」は、多くの糖尿病患者が血糖値をモニタリングする際に感じている絶え間ない不安を視覚的に表現しようとした作品です。この構図では、重なり合う顔や手を用いて、混乱、精神的なプレッシャー、そして一度に多くの思考にとらわれている感覚を伝えています。こうした断片化は、恐怖、心配、フラストレーション、そして自制心のあいだで心がどのように引き裂かれているかを反映しています。.

赤と青の劇的な使い方は、2つの相反する力を象徴しています。赤は警戒、ストレス、切迫感を示し、青は冷静さ、コントロール、臨床的な客観性を暗示します。これら相反するエネルギーが患者の体内で衝突し、結果を見る前から生じる葛藤を表現しています。.

中央には血糖測定器が127という数値を映し出している。それは技術的には正常範囲内でありながら、基準値に非常に近い数字である。その近さが、現実的で消えない不安を生み出す。つまり、今にも基準から外れてしまうのではないという恐れだ。糖尿病を持つ多くの人にとって、すべての測定値は、罪悪感、フラストレーション、あるいはコントロールを失う恐怖の引き金となり得る。したがってこのデバイスは、単なる医療機器ではなく、感情的な象徴となるのである。.

幾重にも描かれた手は、検査という反復的で、ほとんど強迫観念的な行為――必要不可欠な日課でありながら、心をすり減らす行為――を強調している。断片化された顔は、患者の感情的アイデンティティを表している。つまり、表向きは落ち着いていながらも、内面では不安によって引き裂かれている状態である。.

この作品を通じて私が表現したいのは、糖尿病を抱える人々の不安が必ずしも悪い検査結果から生じるわけではなく、「一線を越えてしまうかもしれない」という絶え間ない可能性から生まれるということです。「常に限界すれすれ」の状態で生きることは一種の精神状態であり、ほんのわずかな変動でも深刻な結果を招きかねないということを日々思い知らせてくれます。この作品は、共感と理解、そしてその目に見えないプレッシャーの視覚化を促すものです。.

静かな勇気

カンジャリー・スパウィッタヤ、タイ

1型糖尿病とともに生きることは、目に見えない重荷を伴います。10年以上にわたり1型糖尿病患者として過ごす中で、毎日完璧なコントロールを維持することはほぼ不可能であるという境地に達しました。血糖値を常に正常に保つことへの意識、適切な種類と量のインスリンの自己注射、高血糖や低血糖の管理、そして誰もが日々下している通常の決断に加え、糖尿病に関する何百もの決断を下し続けることは、「決して気が休まらない」という感覚と、内側から湧き起こる不安を生み出します。.

家族や仲間、医療チームから多大なサポートを得てきた一方で、理解のない社会的状況や世間の視線・プレッシャーに直面する瞬間が今でもあります。自分の1型糖尿病の体験を共有できることには感謝していますが、自分の病気を見るすべての人に絶えず説明を求められ（深く理解してもらえることを切に願いながら、時には理解してくれない人たちに対してはそのままやり過ごしながら）、そうし続けることは非常に圧倒されるものです。他人の誤解や、私の将来に対する傷つくような予測はしばしば苦痛であり、自分自身や自分の能力に対して強い信念と自信を持っていても、時には不安を感じさせられます。.

最終的に、1型糖尿病とともに生きるということは、単に数値を管理することだけではありません。それはバランス、レジリエンス、そして受容を見出すことです。私にとっての第一歩は、自分自身のすべてを受け入れ、「そうだ、私には糖尿病があるけれど、これとともに元気に生きていくんだ」と自分に言い聞かせることでした。そして、それこそがまさに、これまで私が実践してきたことです。患者であること、そして多くの人が気づいていないかもしれない現実を目の当たりにしたことが、現在の、努力家で共感力のある医学部3年生としての私を形作りました。今でも不安は残っていますが、私の中にある強さと、世界中の糖尿病コミュニティのサポートがあれば、どんなことも乗り越えられると知っています。かつての10歳の小さな自分のために、そして心から愛する友人であるあなたたちのために、素晴らしい人生を送りたいと願っています。.

小さくて、とても大きい

アイリーン・コトロネオ、イタリア

インスリンポンプのカートリッジを見るたびに、これが自分を生かしている信じられないほど小さな要素なのだと思い知らされます。とても小さくて壊れやすいのに、あまりにも大きくて欠かせないものです。私にとって最大の必需品であり、自分自身に次ぐ人生の第2の主人公だからこそ、その存在は大きいのです。どうしようもないと感じてパニックになることもあります。糖尿病がただの日常の作業に思える時もあります。苦労の連続ですが、それでも歩みを止めません。それが現実なのです。.

見えない重荷

ベルマ・タフト、ボスニア・ヘルツェゴビナ

私の糖尿病の物語.

薬剤師として、私は毎日糖尿病とともに生きる人たちに出会います。彼らが分かち合うすべての会話、すべての疑問、恐れ、あるいは希望は、私の心に深く刻まれます。.

時間が経つにつれて、私は糖尿病が単なる身体的状態ではなく、勇気、忍耐、そして回復力を必要とする感情的な旅でもあることを学びました。独学の画家として、私はこれらの感情を色に昇華させようとしています。これが、私の芸術が生まれた理由です。それは糖尿病と不安の視覚的表現であり、暗闇と光、葛藤と希望の融合です。糖尿病の目に見えない側面、つまり不安や不確実性という目に見えない重荷を映し出すと同時に、決して消えることのない希望の光をも映し出しています。.

ですから、薬剤師としての仕事であれ、色彩や筆遣いであれ、私の使命は変わりません。それは、助け、理解し、サポートを提供することです。.

「これは糖尿病です」キャンペーンのために制作されたこの作品を通じて、私は、共感と理解が医療だけでなく芸術を通じても表現され得ることを示したいと願っています。.

内なる声

ナウェレス・ラ・ローザ、イタリア

“「内なる声」は、日々糖尿病とともに生きる人々の声なき声に耳を傾けることから生まれました。コントロールというすべての行動の裏には、思考、不安、そして脆いバランスからなる広大な世界が広がっています。それは、痛みを勇気と気づきに変えながら、静かに闘いに挑む人々への賛辞です。.

このアートワークは、糖尿病と共に生きる人々の内なる対話を反映しており、身体を超えて心にまで及ぶ病の現実を伝えています。顔の周りに浮かび上がる声は、コントロールに対する絶え間ない不安、突然の変化への恐れ、そして常に警戒し続けなければならないことから生じる疲労を象徴しています。.
中央にある穏やかで澄んだ表情には、日々、自覚と尊厳を持って自らの境遇と向き合うことを選んだ人々の、静かな強さが表れています。闇と光の対比は、感情の混乱と均衡を求める道のりという、内なる旅路を表現しています。.

それは、病気の向こう側を見つめ、多くの人が耐えている目に見えない深遠な闘いに気づき、恐怖をレジリエンス（回復力）へと変えるための招待状です。.

暗闇からの再生

ディエゴ・ベルザギ、ブラジル

“「闇からの再生」は、糖尿病とともに生きる人々の歩みを描いています。最初の暗闇、目に宿る恐怖と痛み、しかし同時に、充実した人生を送ることが可能だと気づいた時に心から溢れ出す色彩の爆発を描いています。胸に描かれたハートは、制限に直面しても耐え抜く愛を象徴し、頭部から現れる有機的な形は、希望、自制心、そして新しい命の開花を表現しています。.

その芸術作品は、糖尿病とは終わりではなく、自己を再発見し、意識によって養われ、色彩、バランス、そして活気の中で生まれ変わるための招待状であることを私たちに思い出させてくれる。.

髪がまとまらない女性

リンダ・チャン、「最悪のヘアスタイルの日」の女性

糖尿病を患って33年、私は視力を失いつつあります。55歳の時、うつ病と健康状態の悪化を理由に退職しました。その後、アートのクラスに通い始め、今では紙の上に線を引いては、その中に浮かび上がるイメージを見つめています。 「髪がまとまらない日」とは、物事がうまくいかない日のことを指します。この状態を常に管理しなければならないこと、そしてどんなに頑張っても押しつぶされそうなほどの絶え間ない努力、自覚、そして悲しみによって、髪――この場合は糖尿病――だけが自分を定義しているように感じてしまうのです。.

糖尿病のせいで、これまでにずっとインスリン治療が必要だったため、私は視力低下、心臓疾患、腎臓病、神経障害を発症しました。しかし、現在は持続血糖測定器を使用しており、これが私の人生を変えつつあります。.

背後にぴったりと張り付いて監視している

ジェンマ・オリヴィエリ、イタリア

1型糖尿病とともに生きるということは、常に重荷を背負っているようなものです。それは、いつも自分の背後にいて、首筋に息がかかるような気配。すべての食事、すべての数値、すべての夜に対する不安です。その感覚が消えることは、決してありません。.

2019年からずっとこれと共に暮らしているが、今でもほとんどの時間、大嫌いだ。それは侵入的で、重苦しく、私の自由を奪い、すべての瞬間を不安で満たすもののようだ。完全に自由になることは決してないのだと思い出させるこの絶え間ない呼吸に、時々気が狂いそうになる。.

でも、引き返せないことは分かっている。前に進む唯一の方法は、それがすぐ後ろについたまま歩き続けることだ。敵としてではなく、頑固な旅の連れとして——一歩ずつ、一呼吸ずつ、共the生きることを少しずつ学んでいくための。.

それでも、私は成長する（インスリンと共に）

リンダ・ブラウン＝ブリストフ、バルバドス

糖尿病は私に、数値、注射、もしものこと、高血糖と低血糖という、低く唸るような不安と寄り添いながら生きることを教えてくれた。このセルフポートレートで、私は片方の手で手を伸ばし、もう片方の手で体を支えている。手にしているのは、花を咲かせるサトウキビの杖だ。その花は成長、優しさ、そして希望を表し、杖は揺るぎない決意を示している。腰にはインスリンペンがあり、それは困難の絶え間ないリマインダーである同時に、恐怖を和らげ、前向きに歩み続けさせてくれる相棒でもある。.

糖尿病の親

イザベル・イーサ・クリスティン・ステイネック、スウェーデン

子供に毎日薬を与えなければならないところを想像してみてください。それの量が多すぎれば危険であり、少なすぎれば命に関わるかもしれないことを知りながら。 これは、1型糖尿病とともに生きる子どもを持つ親たちの毎日の現実です。.

インスリンの管理は、複雑で終わりのない作業です。すべての投与の裏には、綿密な計算、絶え間ないモニタリング、そして深い懸念があります。そして、こうした医療的責任を負いながら、この親たちはただ普通のお父さん、お母さんになろうともしているのです。.

医師として、私は仕事の中でこうした親御さんたちにたくさん出会います。だからこそ、彼らの行いに敬意を表すために、この絵を描きたいと思ったのです。また、私自身も1型糖尿病とともに生きており、子供の頃には、その膨大な負担を代わりに背負ってくれたのは他ならぬ私の両親でした。.

オクトポディアベティス

アイシェ・シムゲ・サルマン、イタリア

このアートワークは、1型糖尿病を患うタコを描いており、その疾患とともに生きるマルチタスクの性質を鮮やかに表現したメタファーとなっています。「オクトポディアベティス（糖尿病のタコ）」の8本の腕はそれぞれ糖尿病の医療機器を持っており、1型糖尿病の管理に伴う絶え間ないバランス調整と精神的負担を象徴しています。オクトポディアベティスは青い帽子をかぶり、宇宙のような背景の中に浮かんでいます。青い帽子は、T1DM（1型糖尿病）の認知を表すだけでなく、「6つの思考帽」という指導法における「青い帽子」を引用しており、思考プロセスにおける組織化、内省、そしてコントロールのシンボルとなっています。.

1型糖尿病は、幼少期からの私に多くのことを教えてくれたと信じています。現在教師として、私は生徒たちや他の人々に対して、1型糖尿病とは何か、そして何ではないのかを教えなければならないと感じています。特に私の糖尿病管理機器について質問された際には、意識を高めるためにそれが重要です。このアート作品を通じて、1型糖尿病を持つ人々が、レジリエンス（回復力）、適応力、そしてマインドフルな気づきをもって、どのように不安や複雑さに向き合っているのかを表現したいのです。.

'ある朝、悩ましい夢から目覚めると、私はある空間で多才なタコに変身している自分に気づいた。

Anxiety from the Depths

Kate Mirosevich, Australia

The story behind this piece of art is that we are on a lifeboat and the lifeboat contains diabetes and everyday life and there is a balance.

Around the lifeboat, is the causes of anxiety that are lurking in the depths, inching closer. Some are just in the background and not making an impact on everyday life. However, sometimes these tentacles can reach the lifeboat and take hold of you. When it takes hold, the balance is broken and the things in life that are important can no longer be enjoyed the way they should be, not always visible to the world around us, but the effects can be great.

The tentacles are not always permanent, and they are not always making an impact, but they are ready to take hold again.

Engulfed in Blue

Cristiano Da Silva, Canada

Oil on canvas
18x24

The self-portrait "Engulfed in Blue" depicts me taking my bolus insulin injection, with a CGM on my right abdomen and a medical bracelet on my wrist. I was hospitalized after a month of overlooking my symptoms because I had a fear of being weak for not recovering on my own. With my diagnosis came both clarity and a life-altering reality.

The painting illustrates that initial anxiety I felt about having to take insulin in public spaces, worrying I’d draw attention to my condition. I chose the rich blues to represent the colour for diabetes awareness, with thick and blurred brush strokes to represent the chaos and ambiguity of how I felt in that moment.

I am often anxious about whether I am managing my condition correctly, to which I am grateful for the technology that helps make this process less worrying.

This piece, acting as a form of self-exploration, allowed me the space to delve deeper into how to navigate this new emotional reality, and I hope it can for others as well.

Anxiety and Her Friends

Lorena De Leo, Italy

I am the mother of a ten-year-old girl who was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at the age of seven. I created this artwork during 2024–2025, after two years of managing the condition through multiple daily insulin injections.

The greatest challenge was that I never received any training on carbohydrate counting or on the correct insulin-to-carbohydrate ratios. In practice, her treatment was based on observing each meal in relation to the insulin units administered and making corrections when needed. Over these two years, my mind became completely absorbed by experimenting with different combinations of foods and nutrients and watching the results.

Fear, mistakes, anger, confusion, exhaustion, and anxiety crowded my thoughts. From this came the need to face these emotions through drawing, to stop myself from being overwhelmed by them. Art, as therapy, gradually helps to clear the mind — it teaches you to ask for help, change hospitals, and seek proper training.

These are the right steps to take to see the light at the end of the tunnel and to find hope again.

In the end, my graphic works took the form of an artist’s book — what better way to represent the long, suffocating period spent at the mercy of these emotions?

(Not So) Imaginary Monsters45r

Haley, United States

I have always been an anxious person—the kind of person who overanalyzes everything. I had my first panic attack when I was 13 and struggled with my anxiety throughout my adolescence. My anxiety was finally improving when I was diagnosed with diabetes at the age of 20. I was diagnosed at a hospital and it was all so overwhelming. I was given conflicting treatment plans, dealing with healthcare professionals who did not seem to know how to approach me, and no one could give me an answer on what type of diabetes I had. My anxiety skyrocketed.

I had reached a point when I entered adulthood where I was not thinking about each decision I made in a day. Diabetes changed that. Suddenly I had to consider my sugar levels any time I ate, exercised, or slept. I had to think if there were sharps disposal containers nearby. I had to remember insulin and daily pills for the first time in my life.

Receiving an official diagnosis helped relieve some of my anxiety, but that was replaced by a new anxiety. I am neither T1D or T2D, I have Maturity Onset Diabetes of the Young. There is limited research on MODY, and most people – even other diabetics – have never even heard of it.

This piece is a visual representation of my diabetic-induced anxieties. At times, it feels as if these worries are pressing in around me, that they are larger than me. Fueling it all is public perception. People are constantly judging you when you have diabetes, and it impacts my perception of myself.

Although I have worked through many of my anxieties regarding my diabetes thanks to my incredible care team, I still worry. Even with great control, my glucose levels can be unpredictable at times. This work represents my anxieties at their worst, but with time, medication, and support from my loved ones, I can be bigger than my fears.

Drowning

Hannah Böhm, Germany

The piece was inspired by the anxiety you get from a really low blood sugar. The person in the picture is struggling for their life, being in a trance, feeling like they could sink to the ground every second. The insulin pump, although shining bright in the dark, is not helping in that moment but rather feels like extra weight. The trash the person is surrounded by is all food you would typically consume during a low blood sugar, like juice or a chocolate bar. It being trash shows that the person already tried their best to get their blood sugar under control, but still did not manage to be okay again.

It also shows the amount of food people with diabetes consume when they are scared of their blood sugar dropping, and like trash in the ocean, it is something that feels wrong and sort of out of place in its environment. It also shows that the person is struggling so much that they don't have the energy to clean up after themselves, but rather the trash floating around them makes them feel even worse.

All in all, this piece shows my perspective on what low blood sugar feels like and the anxiety that comes with it.

The Keyhole

林宇芹, Taiwan

Through the composition of a keyhole, we glimpse a small universe framed by illness. Blood glucose meters, insulin pens, food scales, and sweets together form the everyday life of someone living with diabetes.

Within this seemingly gentle world lies an undercurrent of anxiety about self-control and a deep longing for freedom. Behind every smile is a silent tug-of-war between numbers and desire.

The keyhole symbolises a life under observation, but also the boundary we face within ourselves — a line that separates sweetness from pain, freedom from restraint, outward understanding from inner truth.

To My Dear Pancreas and Brain

Sara Mariana Meléndez Barrón, Mexico

“The Inner Garden and the Sweet Burden”

When the sweet threshold of childhood closed, I watched my brother take up his cross of sugar. I thought the battle lived only in the whispers of his veins — a chemical secret that would never reach the sanctuary of the mind. I never imagined that my own beginning would be an awakening beyond glucose, a confrontation within the citadel of my spirit.

The day the doctor pronounced the verdict of diabetes, my soul did not fear the needle but the echo that resonated through the dark corridors of my anxiety and depression. My anxiety — whom I’ve named Lucy — unfurled her shadowed wings, soaring toward a horizon of imagined possibilities, veiled in the mist of a future that did not yet exist. I felt disarmed, a spectator before the catastrophe orchestrated by my own mind.

Eight years have carved this path of mine. Today, when I look at Lucy, I no longer see an intruder. I’ve learned that my anxiety is, in truth, my vigilant essence — a nervous sentinel calling out warnings to truths my daily distractions drown out. This new alliance has forged a strange peace between us. I came to understand that we both dwell within my inner garden, and that our coexistence does not deny the possibility of serenity.

I know that not every murmur of the mind is an oracle of truth. The support woven from the threads of familial love, the science of my doctors, and the light of my therapists became my beacon. I discovered the strength that comes from naming the shadow that follows me.

And there, in the embrace of that understanding, I found my greatest blessing — the purest act of love toward myself: to accept my burden and fight not against it, but with it, for a life clothed in peace.

Is This Me?

Jaylen MM, Canada

In June 2023, I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. I was in my senior year of high school, preparing for university, when my life was turned upside down after a week-long stay in the hospital.

I went from being someone who never really questioned what I ate or where I went too being terrified and hyper-focused on every little detail of my life. My own anxiety prevented me from living. From fears of going low and not being able to get help, all the way to fears of running out of insulin. I laid awake at night knowing there are jobs I won't be able to have. Knowing there are places I can never live because they do not see how insulin is interchangeable with life support.

I often question who I would be without diabetes. I spend endless nights staring into mirrors wondering what I would look like. How care-free would I be. How much easier my life could be. The anxiety eats at me day by day, making me spiral deeper and deeper into an endless barrage of "what if" questions. Who am I? Who was she? Is This Me?

Sleeping Awake

Marcia Bottino, Urugway

Being the mother of a child with Type 1 diabetes makes me feel as though I sleep while awake. I never know if I’ve truly rested, as I’m always watching over his levels, making sure he’s all right. My peace lies in knowing that he’s well, even when anxiety keeps me from sleeping.

His strength in facing this reality inspires and motivates me every single day. The artwork is created in a circuit format, as colouring it helps to ease and balance my anxiety.

Wrapped in Worry

Stefanie Hilbeck, Germany

This artwork represents the feeling of being bound by fears and worries — the invisible ties that sometimes come with living with diabetes. The glowing lines symbolize the cycle of anxiety that can feel impossible to break.

For me personally, gastroparesis, a complication of diabetes, is one of my greatest fears. It is unpredictable and causes immense suffering for those affected. The constant alarms from sensors or pumps can rob you of sleep and peace of mind, leaving your nerves on edge.

During hypoglycemia, there’s often the terrifying thought that it could be fatal — and that fear lingers. There are so many aspects of diabetes that can cause fear and exhaustion, both mentally and physically.

This image gives form to that weight — to the quiet moments when the struggle feels overwhelming, yet unseen by others.

Through the Tunnel of Struggle

Marwa Kicha, Morocco

This painting powerfully symbolizes the challenges faced by people living with diabetes and their determination to keep moving forward despite them. The dark tunnel represents the difficulties, fears, and uncertainty that often accompany the disease, the daily monitoring, dietary restrictions, and emotional burden. The deep blue tones evoke the sense of isolation and struggle that many patients experience as they navigate their condition.

However, at the end of the tunnel, there is a radiant light, a symbol of hope, strength, and perseverance. The small figure walking toward the light represents the diabetic patient who refuses to give up, continuing their journey with courage and faith. The reflection of the light on the path suggests that even in darkness, their efforts and resilience illuminate the way forward.

In essence, this artwork captures both the pain and the power of endurance, showing that, despite the hardships, there is always a path toward healing, balance, and inner peace.

Say cheese! A portrait of my social anxiety

Sharron Fidler, United Kingdom

When I am smiling but dying inside.

My work is based on my mental health and how I portray myself to the world. This piece is called "Say cheese! A portrait of my social anxiety" I have only in the last year begun to create using oils and my confidence has gained ground. I have been diabetic for over 25 years and struggle with being present in my treatment, being able to create gives me hope for my future

Tip of it

Louise Richardson, United kingdom

The “Tip of it” was made in response to my daughter's diagnosis at 10 of type 1 diabetes. The diagnosis is a shock and the condition is intrusive, repetitive and has to become deeply embedded into all daily activities. The only way to monitor the condition was for her to prick her finger to monitor blood glucose levels, around six to eight times a day. This, on its own, was difficult.

The “Tip of it” was based on a year's worth of finger pricks - it became a visual calculation which seemed to tell a story more than words. Diabetes is a very number-driven condition, blood glucose readings, carbohydrate counting units of insulin HbA1c (measurement of blood glucose over a three-month period).

The “Tip of it” is in no way a comparison to what my daughter has to go through but somehow helped to visualise the process reflecting the time and the physicality of the process the aggressive action of pushing the pins into the gloves was particularly difficult - I wore a skin coloured plaster on my finger throughout the whole process which became more and more scarred - beginning to resemble the surface of my daughters fingers. The piece is made from fine gloves and pins representing years' worth of finger pricks.

Inside and outside the circle of life

Ana Jurić, Bosnia and Herzegovina

The submitted painting was made using oil on canvas technique. The dimensions are 40 x 60 cm. It's inspired by my everyday life...I'm the mother of two wonderful teenage girls diagnosed with DM 1. We have lived with diabetes for 7 years, and we went through various stages of life with DM 1, but my struggle with anxiety is constant after I once experienced acute stress disorder under the influence of stressful life. Regardless of the struggle that takes place outside the blue circle of life, I do my best so that my daughters don't feel that their diabetes has any negative impact on our lives. I'm learning to embrace and love life, to appreciate simplicity and to practice gratitude. By looking at them and admiring their smiles, I also heal and learn how to overcome all obstacles...Life is not what happens to you but how you decide to accept it...or not.

The painting shows me and my daughters, and I'm the author. I'm not a professional artist; I'm an amateur who enjoys art.

糖尿病ラビリンス

Ariadna Castrellón Calzada, Mexico

The illustration captures the profound 'diabetes distress.' It illustrates the exhaustion of constant monitoring (devices, syringes) and the psychological struggle (the spectral figure, the 3:00 AM time) that torments those living with this condition. The vigilant adult figure underscores the burden of care and family concern. In the center, a winding river of peaks and valleys symbolizes the unpredictable and obstacle-filled path that generates intense daily anguish, alongside the constant desire to live and enjoy everything life offers. I am the mother of a young man who has recently been diagnosed.

選択の重み

Vittoria di Benedetto, Italy

I found out I had Type 1 diabetes when I was 25. Beyond the initial shock, I didn’t make a tragedy out of it — I learned to accept it over time, not that I had much choice.

But there has always been one thing that drives me mad, that triggers my anxiety and sometimes even real episodes of depression (which I’ve struggled with for much longer). No matter how many checks I do, how many devices I use, how carefully I follow my diet and all the sacrifices I make, this condition often slips out of my control — doing whatever it wants and leaving me wondering why all my efforts end up wasted.

The anger, anxiety, and frustration sometimes make me want to stop taking care of myself, to throw everything away and just let whatever happens, happen. But I can’t. So I keep going — holding on to hope for the future and for better ways to manage my life.

悲劇的に美しい

Chloe Moon, Australia

Three months ago, our world shifted when our three-year-old son was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. The experience was terrifying and heartbreaking—an avalanche of emotions and information all at once. T1D is one of those conditions you don’t truly grasp until you’re living it. Its seriousness, its unpredictability, and the way it reshapes everyday life—it’s overwhelming.

We’re incredibly grateful we caught it in time. Our hospital visit could have ended in the ICU—or worse. That thought still chills me. Every day since has been a learning curve. Some days are harder than others, but through it all, I’ve been in awe of our son’s resilience. At just three years old, he’s faced this challenge with a strength that humbles me.

I’ve tried to put into words the anxiety that comes with every blood sugar fluctuation, every injection before a meal, every moment he’s asked to finish food he may not want—because the stakes are so high. But the truth is, I can only speak from my perspective as his mum. I’ll never fully understand what it feels like for him. I just know I’ll be beside him every step of the way.

慎重に行動せよ（これが不安というもの）

Shelby Dillingham, United States

Tread Lightly (This Is Anxiety) is a sculptural self-portrait in the language of chronic illness, ecofeminism, and resistance. I constructed this piece using my own recycled medical waste — thousands of used needles — embedded into platform Doc Martens, a symbol of defiance and identity. These boots are unwalkable, painful, and threatening — and that is the point.

As a Type 1 diabetic, my survival is dependent on a daily ritual of piercing, monitoring, injecting. These acts are intimate and clinical, invisible to most — but here they take center stage, made grotesquely visible. Every needle carries the memory of a moment, a cost, a calculation. The physical weight of the piece mirrors the financial and emotional toll of living with a disease that never ends, never rests, and is never free.

The oceanic background speaks to vastness, overwhelm, and the deep, unknowable depths of living with anxiety — a constant undercurrent that threatens to pull you under, even on still days.

This is not just a personal narrative. As an ecofeminist, I confront the systems — medical, environmental, capitalist — that create and sustain this kind of suffering. Medical waste, often treated as shameful or disposable, becomes here a material of power and protest. The boots cannot move forward without pain — just as I, and many others, navigate a world where the act of simply continuing is both radical and exhausting.

This is anxiety. This is endurance. This is survival made visible.

Holding myself together

Julia Stefaniak, Poland

My artwork reflects the hidden struggles that many people with diabetes carry every day - burdens that are rarely seen or understood by others. From the outside, everything may look fine, but inside there is constant calculation, fear, and exhaustion. It’s a quiet fight that happens beneath the surface, where numbers and emotions mix in silence.

The piece shows a figure looking at their own reflections - not out of vanity, but out of the need to truly see and care for themselves. Living with diabetes often means learning to be your own protector, to give yourself compassion when others cannot fully understand what you’re going through.

Through layers of shadow and light, I wanted to express both the loneliness and the strength that come from this journey. Anxiety may whisper doubts, but self-awareness and self-kindness can turn that whisper into resilience. My artwork is a reminder that what’s invisible can still be deeply felt - and that caring for yourself is an act of quiet courage.

もろい沈黙

Francesco Pecchia, Italy

This artwork was born from observing how anxiety and diabetes can intertwine silently in everyday life, creating an invisible web of fragility and worry. I was inspired by the desire to transform the perception of this inner weight into a visual language that expresses not only vulnerability but also the strength each of us carries within. The amber light glowing from the chest represents my personal belief that, despite difficulties, there is always a form of resilience capable of illuminating even the most uncertain and melancholic moments.

In this illustration, a stylised human figure sits immersed in a cool, subdued environment. Thin, transparent threads connect symbols associated with diabetes — a glucometer, a syringe, a stopped clock, a grey cloud, and violet flames — representing the constant presence of the condition and the mental burden it brings. The figure’s hand, resting on the chest, emits a warm amber light that contrasts with the melancholy atmosphere, symbolising the inner strength and resilience that endure through the quiet of anxiety.

カラーフラッシュ

Ingo Vieweg, Germany

I’m 41 years old and was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes four months ago. Painting and drawing help me relax and keep my blood sugar levels stable.

In this piece, I’ve expressed my first experiences with low blood sugar and how I felt at the beginning. It’s painted in acrylic on wood.

針遊び

Julie Duquette-B, Canada

Diabetes has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. The struggle through adolescence and adulthood has been difficult. Realizing that your life depends on one injection after another can be deeply discouraging at times.

My artwork aims to show how unsettling it is to see a child playing with needles—but for a child with diabetes, this is everyday life. We handle needles long before we reach adulthood. We take on responsibilities far greater than our age. I used darker colors to convey feelings of sorrow and anxiety. A child holding a teddy bear and playing with syringes represents the contrast between innocence and illness.

In 2015, when my oldest son was diagnosed, guilt inevitably found its way in. The anxiety reached a whole new level. I hope his journey will be easier than mine.

To everyone living with the highs and lows of diabetes: you are doing an incredible job. If no one has told you this yet—it’s not your fault, and you are doing the best you can. We are so close to finding a cure; hang in there a little longer.

Even though it’s not always easy, life still has so much to offer—and since we already know we won’t live forever, we might as well live to the fullest.

静かな助けの求愛

Nina Emmerich, Germany

I was seven when I was diagnosed — that was in 2003. There were no sensors, no inclusion support at school, no psychologists on the ward — nothing at all.

For years, I thought it was normal for children and teenagers with Type 1 diabetes to be blamed by those around them — told they had ruined their parents’ lives, not allowed to go on school trips, growing up completely cut off from the reality of other kids their age. Because I wasn’t the child Nina — I was my diabetes. A number. And with every number from a glucose test or HbA1c result came the fear of not being good enough, of having failed, of no longer being loved, and of facing even more violence.

On the outside, everything looked perfect. But behind the closed curtains, life was hell. The house screamed, the child screamed, the teenager screamed. Yet no one heard it.

It’s important to me to shed light on experiences like these. I only learned as an adult that this life was anything but normal — and that help actually exists. No child should ever have to grow up with such fears.

Within Me

Roberto Carlos Velazquez Zamora, Mexico

At 25 years old, my brother began to suffer from diabetes. Today, he is learning to live with this change in his life.

The Battle Within

Daniela Asparuhova Georgieva, Switzerland

This painting was created using the acrylic pouring technique — every line and shape is unique and cannot be repeated. Within it, a dragon and a snake fight each other — a symbol of my inner struggle with myself. This is my world with Type 1 diabetes — a constant balance between control and fear. Every day, I monitor my blood sugar, afraid of both hypo- and hyperglycaemia, yet outwardly I appear calm and smiling. The pink tones show how others see me — as if everything were fine. But the green and dark swirls reveal the truth: the fear, exhaustion, and uncertainty that few ever notice. The slightly blurred effect of the painting reflects how I sometimes see the world when I inject insulin — as if reality itself were dissolving, just like the colours on the canvas.

I’ve lived in Switzerland for ten years. I’m an engineer with a background in education, but I can’t find a job. The language barrier keeps me trapped in a vicious circle: no work means no money for language courses — and without the language, no work. After years of worry and uncertainty, I developed diabetes, which has since progressed to Type 1. This painting reflects my inner struggle — between fear and hope, between control and helplessness.

It is unique because I poured my pain and my hope into it.

“This is me — between dragon and snake, between fear and strength. This is my diabetes.”

Diabetes Is a Matter of Balance

Kongchai Bernard, Switzerland

The intention was to depict the distress of our organs, and then to give wings to the pieces of sugar so that they could escape the allegory of this painting.