In Sickness and in Print

It’s sad. In these times, in this culture, in a society that treats human beings as laborious robots with an endless capacity to work, is it any surprise that- in between juggling full-time school and two jobs- I’ve been deathly ill five times since September? And then, after overworking has made me sick, I am told I have no choice but to work my meaningless jobs because they are my responsibility and my bosses are sure that it is somehow my own fault that I am sick. So now I sit here feeling guilty- It must be my fault that I am sick. The weight of the world is on my shoulders and if I falter and collapse I have only myself to blame. But one good thing has come out of sickness: For the first time in weeks I have time to do what I love most. For the first time in weeks I have time to sit and write. I have time to write, just for the sake of writing. Of course, I feel guilty about that too. After all, if I can write, surely I can work.
It’s funny. I lived in Africa for six months in a malaria-infested village where typhoid, AIDS and leprosy run rampant and common viruses can kill. I never got sick. I never felt guilty. I never wanted to leave. Neither did anybody else. Despite their misfortune, they were all so…happy!
Now that I’m back home, surrounded by my mod cons and creature comforts, I don’t think I could possibly feel worse.
Sickness is not only a condition of the body, but of the heart, mind and soul. My soul feels defeated, my heart feels heavy and lonely and my mind feels the guilt. If I am to live in this privileged, western society, I better damn well be on my A-game every goddamn day. If not, I am clearly not contributing anything and those who do not contribute have no value and no place in modern society.
There was a blog posted pertaining to the fact that creativity is lost as we age. That’s because we are constantly faced with the heavy responsibility of “the real world” as we grow into the adult, working machines that we are expected to become. There is no time for creativity. There are simply not enough hours in the day.
But today is mine. Sickness is not just a curse, it is a blessing in disguise. I have been blessed with a debilitating illness that has rewarded me with the most precious gift of all: Time. Today I will really live. Today I will write if I so wish. I will sit and enjoy the time that I have to just sit. Perhaps I will start a new career today and leave my meaningless jobs behind forever. Today I may look and feel like hell, but I have never been in a better position to achieve the things that matter most to me. Today is the day I will seize- stuffy nose, hacking cough, aching body and all- because tomorrow I might feel better, and that would put me right back to where I started: Unhappy, overworked, running a meaningless rat race just to maintain my pathetic life here. I have to say I’d rather be dying.