At the time in which I write this, I have been sick for eight days. I’ve gone through 5 boxes of tissues. Two packs of medicines. Had a fever. Called off a day of work. Gone to the doctor. Slept more than I have probably all year long. Needless to say, this is quite the summer cold. Being sick is no fun, and I’m one to remind everyone around me that it is as such. I complain, I play the victim card, I am essentially helpless. I pretend like I’m going to die, probably because it feels that way. Being sick is no fun because we are not our “normal” selves, we are not healthy, and we are not able to do the things we usually do, at least not the way that we usually do them.
But in a moment of clarity, I wonder to myself, being sick is okay. Maybe our bodies need to be sick in order to rest from the pressure and constraints we put on it everyday to be “healthy.” What is healthy anyways?