Sick

sick of asking, thinking, interesting, but really sick of being lonely. And sick of having to stop what I am so interested in, what I'm thinking, stop being lonely and go to the bathroom. I ask no one why but I am still sick of asking.

I'm Sick. Sick, like physically sick, or sick, like emotionally sick? That's a good question. I don't think I even know that answer to that. I'm tired. I'm hungry. I cough too much. I have a headache. I just want to stop. But what made me feel this way? It is my job? Is it the fact that I haven't slept for a full eight hours in three years? Is it the stress of school? Is it my crazy family? Is it the constant pressure exerted on me to succeed? Who knows? you decide. All I know is that I'm sick.

I think there are many reasons for our flight away from facing death calmly. One of the most important facts is that dying nowadays is more gruesome in many ways, namely, more lonely, mechanical, and dehumanized. When a patient is severely ill, he is often treated like a person with no right to an opinion. It is often someone else who makes the decision if and when and where a patient should be hospitalized. It would take so little to remember that the sick person too has feelings, has wishes and opinions, and has – most important of all – the right to be heard.

I rather hope that the most awful punishments in the afterlife will be reserved for those who lack compassion for the sick and the underprivileged in this world – especially when they purport to speak in the name of the Almighty or Christ. The other day, the latest in a long line of unpleasant Catholic spokesmen (a bishop, no less) had the arrogance and cheek to declare that sickness was the result of sin. There speaks a man who has never known the misfortune of inheriting the wrong genes and the undeserved misery of continual illness. Shame on him!