My dad is a doctor.
Growing up, we would often go days without seeing him. He would leave before we woke up and come home after we were asleep.
Sometimes I would get sick.
So, here’s how things went when that happened (and I’m of two minds on the subject):
|He was busy. He was tired.|
He’s been dealing with sick people all day.
I’m disgusting. He hates me.
Something is wrong with me. Why am I like this? Why can’t I just be okay?
Now I feel guilty every time I’m sick. I understand why this happens— I am a logical being.
I wish that I could “logic” my way out of the feelings of worthlessness that well up whenever my immune system fails me.
There is something internal at work. I have to convince that guilt-feeling part of myself that sickness happens in humans… that being sick is part of being human, and that holding on to guilt serves no one.
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