Sickness is Health
I am a modern medical marvel. Since birth, I have been afflicted with hyperacquirosis syndrome; a permanent state of an insatiable thirst for knowledge. While there is no cure, I’ve discovered that school and reading do ease the eagerness to learn and suppresses the fear that I’m incapable of learning all I want to in my lifetime. Certain locations offer me immense relaxation and comfort when the symptoms come on strong, such as the library or the bookstore- where I volunteered because of my affliction. Constant intellectual stimulation is necessary for my well being for without it I feel completely lost and am subject to a bedridden state.
But that’s not all that plagues me. My senses are askew. I have a rare case of body dysmorphic disorder- I perceive things differently than you do. For me, my scars are stars, my bruises are simply shadows, my swollen, sprained ankle is just an ankle with a temper, my eyelashes whisper, my mind is a sponge. I’m blind to the bad in people sometimes and just can’t see why everything has to be so hard.
Due to my blindness, my sense of hearing and touch are highly developed. I hear everything: inner voices, the souls hopes, whispered desires, mumbled yearnings, muffled pain. This provides for a wholehearted understanding of the human mind and heart and allows me to relate to everyone I meet. I also feel everything; compassion for the human beings whose innermost thoughts I hear, the burning passion to help them, the anger towards those that don’t, and the overwhelming awareness of my existence. Being so sensitive to touch as I am, it’s hard to forget that I’m inextricably linked to this earth and to humanity.
Couple that with my severe case of “altrukemia”, the over production of altruism cells in my body, and you get my inability to spend one day in which I don’t help someone. This particular disease affects others the most I believe, the people I help and my grandmother who has to drive me to all the fundraisers, walks, charity events, soup kitchens, etc. She is appeased though, when I offer to cook dinner that night or clean the house.
To add to my list of medical anomalies, I am subject to epileptic bursts of ideas. This occurs on a daily basis, when nerve cells in my brain fire electrical impulses at a higher rate than normal, resulting in my innate ability to spew witty counteracts to someone’s logic before they are done with their sentence. This is also the cause of my irregular torrential outpour of ideas at any given time and doctors believe it is the core of my spasmodic creative visions and impulsive whims. A side effect of this are my spastic fingers, constantly grabbing at paper and pens in a frenzy to write, write, write.
My most recently discovered malady is pneumonia. You see, I’ve got liquid poetry in my lungs, I expel prose with every breath, I release vaporous sonnets that dissolve into the atmosphere. The doctors don’t know what to call it yet- during one of my erratic epileptic episodes I came up with lyrical respiration. I like it, they don’t- I guess that’s just a side effect of my dysmorphic disorder.
I really find it quite amazing that I’m able to live such a normal life with all these ailments. I mean, I’m glad that no one treats me any different because of them, although I really should be in some sort of museum. Hmm, I like that idea, being imprisoned in a museum. Oh, no I think my epilepsy is acting up, I can see the coldness of prose in every exhalation and so I write, write, write once more.