I firmly believe that it is in moments of sickness that our bodies reveal their uncanny aspect. I am more aware of how my body functions now that it is not functioning correctly.
Self medication has become the defining ritual of my existence.
My day is measured by numbers, medical appointments and doses of essential pharmaceuticals.
I long for some momentary breaks in this monotonous repetition; however, when these breaks come, they seldom deliver the liberation I desire. They are tiny interruptions in the compulsive behaviours that maintain my daily existence and they never herald good news.
For me, the material world has become a mechanical process.
These rituals feel alien and absurd, but they are keeping me alive.
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