Royal Zap

I’m an entrepreneur, a hustler, an American dreamer—but Type 1 Diabetes (T1D) is the fight I didn’t sign up for. It’s robbed me of my family’s military legacy, messed with every part of my body, and left me high and dry with zero help from the government. Big Pharma’s cashing in while I’m scraping by, and no diet or gym session’s gonna fix this. But through wrestling with God and discovering my royal lineage, I’m starting to get why I’m carrying this load—it’s the price of being royalty in a country that doesn’t do kings. This is for every business owner battling a chronic illness, trying to build something while the system screws you over.

Military Dreams, Family Pride, Crushed

My family bleeds military pride—dad, granddad, uncles, all served. Their stories of grit and honor were my north star, and I was ready to join them. Then T1D hit, and the military said, “No dice.” Insulin pumps and blood sugar crashes don’t mix with combat zones. That rejection wasn’t just a career killer; it was a gut punch to my identity, cutting me off from the legacy I was born to carry. As a business owner, I’m used to grinding through setbacks, but this one? It still burns.

My Body’s a Battleground

T1D is a 24/7 war. My pancreas quit, so I’m stuck playing chemist, dosing insulin for every meal, workout, or late-night hustle. Get it wrong, and I’m either shaking and sweating or risking my organs with sky-high sugar. Long term, it’s a nightmare—eyes, kidneys, nerves, heart, all on the chopping block. I’m staring down blindness, amputations, or worse. Some days, I’m too wiped to answer emails, let alone run a business. You try closing a deal when your brain’s fogged and your body’s screaming. This isn’t about willpower; it’s a disease that doesn’t quit.

Government? Big Pharma? No Help, Just Hustle

America’s supposed to be the land of the free, but for T1D folks like me, it’s a financial death trap. No government aid for insulin that costs $300 a pop—multiply that by a few vials a month. Glucose monitors and pumps? Thousands upfront, plus endless refills. Emotional support? Forget it. No counseling, no nothing. The VA might help vets, but I’m out here on my own, praying my insurance doesn’t screw me. Meanwhile, Big Pharma’s raking in billions, jacking up prices on meds I can’t live without. It’s a racket, and we’re the ones paying the price.

No Cure, Just Cash

Don’t hit me with “eat better” or “hit the gym.” T1D isn’t Type 2. My immune system killed my pancreas; no kale or burpees are bringing it back. I’m grateful for insulin and tech that keep me alive, but they’re not a fix—they’re a leash. And an expensive one. The system’s built to keep us hooked, not healed, while drug companies swim in profits. As a business owner, it pisses me off—where’s the innovation for affordable care? Where’s the disruption for people like us?

Finding Meaning in the Mess

I’ve screamed at God, asking why I’m stuck with this. Through those raw, late-night prayers, I found something bigger: my royal lineage. Not the fairy-tale kind, but a deeper truth. Suffering’s the forge for real leaders, the ones who rise when everything’s against them. America doesn’t do royalty, and there’s no playbook for leading through chaos—whether it’s a country or a business. T1D’s my crucible, teaching me to fight smarter, lead with heart, and keep going when I want to quit. It’s not fair, but it’s making me a king in my own right.

A Call to My Fellow Hustlers

To every entrepreneur out there: T1D’s made me tougher, sharper, better. It’s taught me to plan for the worst, pivot on a dime, and fight for what matters. But it’s also shown me how broken this system is. You’ve got a voice—use it. Push for cheaper healthcare. Hire folks with chronic illnesses and give them room to thrive. Build businesses that solve real problems, not just chase cash.

To anyone battling T1D or something like it: you’re a warrior. Your pain’s your power, your story’s your edge. Keep grinding. And to America: step up. Stop letting Big Pharma rob us blind. Stop acting like chronic illness is our fault. Give us a shot to live, not just survive.

This is my fight, my truth, my crown. Type 1 Diabetes stole my military dream, but it won’t steal my fire. I’m still building, still leading, still rising—one battle at a time.

What’s your fight? How’s it shaped your hustle? Drop it below—let’s talk.