Do these heavy-duty meds just completely drain you? Because they definitely do. You really have to load up on vitamins—like, tons of them. Fruit too, though I can't say I’m much of a fruit eater myself. Personally, I’m constantly slamming supplements—omega-3s, magnesium, curcumin, you name it. I feel like I have way less energy than I did before I started this whole medication thing. And then there's the sleep situation... sometimes you're just out cold for hours, and other times, you can't catch a wink of sleep to save your life. They definitely have their downsides. But, look, they have good sides too. In my own experience, there were actually some genuine benefits to taking them.
I don't really touch fruit that much, and vitamins aren't exactly my thing—not that I take them, anyway. I try to squeeze in more veggies, but usually, they're just cooked into whatever meal I'm having, and maybe an occasional banana if I'm feeling ambitious. Bananas might be the one thing keeping me upright. I drink plenty of milk, though I keep hearing people say it’s not the healthiest habit to have; still, I end up having it with cereal or cookies for dinner most nights. And look, this isn't because of the meds—it’s always been like this. I can't tell if I'm dealing with chronic fatigue or something else entirely, or if I’m just built like Hegel—just wired that way. I’ll sleep for like 8 to 12 hours a day, usually hitting that 10-12 hour sweet spot, and then I’ll spend the entire night buzzing around until the sun comes up. It's exhausting, honestly. The current meds don't seem to bother me, but that Risperidone? Yeah, that was a nightmare. I almost lost it and did something stupid because of it—I tried to speak up, but I guess there was no Metoten available, probably because everyone was too busy dealing with those massive corporate bidding wars at places like Boeing.
Psychiatrists act like they have all the answers, but honestly? If any of them had actually lived through a psychotic break or dealt with the reality of being on these meds, they’d probably think differently. It’s easy to talk theory from a clinical desk, but it's a different story when you're the one actually dealing with it. And let's be real—with these kinds of diagnoses, just functioning on a daily basis is a massive struggle, let alone trying to hold down a job. You'd think the government would step up with some kind of support or disability benefits, right? But instead, you're just left hanging. I don't even dare to apply for disability myself—I mean, what would happen if they actually declared me unfit for work? What am I supposed to do then? Just sit there? It's a catch-22.
They honestly don't have a clue what I'm going through. Every single appointment—it’s always the same—they cut the conversation down to less than a minute. And get this—my psychiatrist actually had the nerve to start complaining to me about his own heart issues and whatnot. Look, I’m not saying he doesn't have problems, but damn, I’ve got my own laundry list of health issues to deal with too. I ended up stuck in the hospital once and was supposed to undergo some extreme testing, but I just hit a wall. I spiraled so hard that I went from being in internal medicine straight to the psych ward. It happened a second time, too, though not in a hospital setting. Honestly? They couldn't care less about us. If they don't care about healthy people, why would they care about people like me? It feels like they're just waiting for us—the old, the sick, the broken—to finally kick the bucket so they can be rid of us. They’re practically counting down the days.
Look, I’ve never been one to get worked up over things—never have. We usually say we just take life as it comes, you know? But honestly, I’ve been out of the workforce for fifteen years straight since I finished school. Never had a real job. And let's be real: what are the odds someone is going to hire a 32-year-old with my track record? I'm dealing with health issues, a messy medical diagnosis, and not enough schooling—I don't even have the specific degree they're looking for. Why would anyone pick me over some young kid who's healthy and actually holds the right credentials? It’s not like it's happening. Even the social safety nets here... they aren't exactly handing out checks to people like me. 25 miles At least if I save up, I might actually have enough to pay for some gear for my projects or maybe some retraining—you know, to chase a decent job or whatever. Not even counting disability benefits. But honestly? It feels like we’re being pushed toward another war sooner rather than later. Things are heating up over in Canada again, and it’s all starting to feel cyclical. Either everyone just vanishes from Canada entirely, leaving nothing behind but the elderly, the sick, and those Oligarchs who call themselves "protectors of the people." Look, I don't *want* a war. But... maybe there's a tiny part of me that actually wants it. Just so I could go out, die, and finally be done with this whole mess. Maybe it isn't even a desire, really—more like I’d just accept it gladly. To finally get rid of this life where everything is just constant struggle. And then there's the social security stuff. By law, I'm entitled to it, but they won't give it to me. They won't even give me what's legally mine. I sat down and did the math for fifteen years, and it comes out to about... 6.2 miles I guess. Legally, I should be covered since nobody in my family actually has an official job—we just have one tiny social security check coming in as our only "official" income.
Over in England, they actually get social assistance if you're over 330 lbs or dealing with chronic illnesses—the state actually steps up. But here in the States? You have to hide the fact that you’ve ever been sick. You show up for a job interview and mention you’ve dealt with psychosis or schizophrenia... your chances of getting hired are basically zero. It’s best to stick to those government agencies. Luckily, a friend of mine works at a university, so no one can breathe down his neck about his health or fire him for it. But if you work for a private company and end up in the psych ward three times a year? You'd be gone in a heartbeat.
Well, they aren't like people in England or anywhere else—not like these local Oligarchs. They know exactly what they're doing by keeping everyone else broke while they hoard everything. It’s a recipe for a systemic collapse, one way or another. And I can't even admit I'm ill because the CDC code is right there in my records—they noted the agency ID in my file, so if anyone looks at my paperwork, they see that CDC mark immediately. They won't hire healthy, young people, let alone us. Working for private employers here is practically serfdom. People are pulling 10 or 12-hour shifts for peanuts, and half the time they don't even pay you—they just keep you stuck in "probation" forever. It's a total scam, so it's no wonder everyone is trying to get out.
Like we actually chose this. Who in their right mind would choose mental illness? If you're fighting cancer, everyone's full of sympathy, but if you're treating schizophrenia, you're just a "lunatic" that everyone avoids. That's why it's better not to tell anyone what's actually going on. Maybe just your closest friends. Honestly, maybe not even family. I'm looking for work, but I honestly don't know if I'm capable of grinding through 8 hours every single day. What kind of divine punishment is this? I guess we'll all go to paradise like saints. Or maybe in the next reincarnation, we'll all just be cattle. haha
Look, I didn't choose this, though I definitely didn't pass up any opportunities back in the day—if I had, I wouldn't be in this mess. Back in 2008, I might have been able to leverage some of that chaos and pitch ideas to the powers that be to get something out of them, but I didn't want to cause trouble, especially since so much of that stuff is used as weapons. But I was never really "good" at it. After that lead poisoning incident when I was a kid, they kept me in the hospital for half a month under observation, dealing with convulsions, and my folks eventually had to pull some strings to get me out. Who knows how long I've been sick—maybe it started right then. It's the truth; crazy people aren't accepted, and our opinions don't carry weight. They don't listen. And yeah, I'd work, but I couldn't handle 8, 10, or 12-hour days. Maybe 4 hours, maybe 6 max, but no one wants to hire that—they just want to exploit you. It's a curse. I've felt cursed for a long time, but I've just accepted it—this whole life. What's the point in fighting it.
What can I honestly tell you? You’re unfortunately right about almost everything. But being right isn't the solution itself. War doesn't lead to answers, and neither does revolution. Every single revolution just births a new system or a new war—never actual stability. We need evolution. You know? Not revolution, because that just leads to more chaos. Look at Scandinavia; they have six-hour workdays. And remember, the whole eight-hour workday concept was actually pioneered by Henry Ford with his first major plants back in the day, and we've been stuck with it ever since. Now, everyone seems to be saying, "Look what Henry Ford did to us." But if I recall correctly, research from NASA suggests that a person—man or woman—simply cannot maintain full concentration for eight hours straight. Focus drops off a cliff after four or five hours of continuous labor. It's physically impossible to work the way we do now. It kills productivity and steals time from ourselves, our kids, and our families. Sadly, this foundational knowledge has been buried by the media, drowning out the wisdom we used to hold onto. That connection to nature, that fundamental relationship with the earth... I truly believe things will change. Maybe not in my lifetime, but the status quo has to break. It simply has to. Even now, people are pushing back against bankers and the entire industrial complex. I think I saw a clip where Trump was visiting somewhere in Europe, and there were massive protests by young people specifically targeting bankers and those types of institutions. Someone might argue, "Hey, banks are fine; they help you afford things you can't pay for upfront." But the real question is: why can't you afford it in the first place? We need a government led by the most capable people. Besides, let's call them what they are: legalized loan sharks. The state basically legalized the practice of someone lending you money just so they can profit off you. It's legal usury. It's rule by the strongest. As far as I know, back in the early 1920s, we didn't even have modern banking or property mortgages like we do today. It wasn't until insurance companies arrived in the US that home mortgages became a thing, simply because they saw a massive way to make money. People ask how anyone built houses, cottages, or churches before all this. Back then, the whole neighborhood would build it. You needed a house for your family? You get married? No problem, we'll all chip in and build it with you, and then later on, you help someone else when they need it. That's how it worked. Now, people wonder how it's possible without a banker. Everything is possible if there is collective will. And just to add a quick thought regarding sleep. According to traditional Chinese medicine, you should really be asleep by 11 PM. That's when your body flushes out toxins during deep sleep. While you rest, you regenerate, which you probably already know. But that's also when the detoxification happens. If you find yourself waking up to pee around 4 or 5 AM, it's often a sign that your body is trying to process a heavy load of toxins quickly during the night. It's not a crisis, but it's a signal. You just need to stop consuming toxins—like coffee or too much liquid—before 8 PM, for example. I know this because I went through it myself. Real diabetes concerns arise when you're waking up so often that you can't get any actual rest. When the constant trips to the bathroom prevent you from sleeping normally, that's when you really need to worry.
Rebecca Rivera3 said:Maybe I'm wrong, but I've noticed one thing: highly spiritual and intelligent people seem to lean toward these kinds of illnesses more often... And it’s honestly sad. That's why I find myself clinging to the idea of getting my PhD if I can manage it. It feels like it might offer some solace. Between my concentration issues, compulsions, social phobia—not to mention everything else that's even worse—getting through college is a struggle. Just functioning in life is hard. I see you all wondering if you could even handle an eight-hour workday; I ask myself the same thing. When I finally get to campus, I wonder if I'll have the stamina to stay through a lecture, show up, and actually look okay doing it. It's embarrassing to deal with mental health struggles. Richard White8 described it perfectly; you don't want even your closest family to know. You feel ashamed, like it makes you weak or lesser than everyone else... though it shouldn't be that way. Vitamins help, but they make me nauseous. Most pills do, and my stomach is just a mess. I don't smoke or drink, though I do love coffee—even if it gives me heartburn. In the evenings, while the rest of the world is asleep, I love to just lie down and stare at the stars, imagining I'm on some distant planet far away from all these problems.
Njusica, you should come for a walk with me. Let's hit up Central Park. What do you say? Come on. Let me know.
Just wanted to give you all a quick update—today went surprisingly well. I was actually feeling pretty anxious beforehand, telling myself, "Look, they’re just people too, nothing special," and I even had a few questions lined up. Then, things got a little weird right off the bat. My neighbor tried to strike up a conversation while I was heading out, and then, well, I tried to be friendly with a lady on my way there, but she practically bolted. I guess maybe she wasn't used to someone being so direct? Like, "Oh my god, why is this man talking to me?" I told myself, "Stay cool, man," because I really didn't want to come off as intense, but she ended up getting pretty annoyed, so I just kept moving. Eventually, I ran into my sister outside. She gave me a "good day," and I replied with this weird, strained voice, "good day." Once I got into the waiting room, she told me to grab my medical files and paperwork. I just said, "Okay." Honestly, the place was miserable—no AC, everyone was huffing and puffing through the heat, and the whole vibe was just totally lifeless. When it was finally my turn, I walked in and said, "good day" with a big smile. The nurse was wearing a plain t-shirt, looking very casual. As I sat down, she asked, "Is it hot out there?" It caught me off guard. I mean, it wasn't quite "death by heatstroke" levels, so I just said, "It’s warm, but I'm handling it okay." She goes, "Oh, you young people always handle it better." She looked maybe ten years older than me, so I offered some advice: "Well, just put a frozen water bottle in front of a fan." She just looked at me and said, "Yeah, that works." I just sat there in silence. I could tell the conversation was turning into one of those awkward, pitying exchanges where we're both just trying to be polite, so I decided to jump straight to the point. I asked her, "Can I have kids while I'm taking these medications?" I explained the situation, and she just said, "Yes." Then she asked, "Do you think it's in your genes?" To which I said, "Yes." She followed up with, "It's not in the genes, it's about what the child inherits from you and your mother." I just smiled and said, "Ah, well..." because, honestly, it felt a bit nonsensical to me. I've always thought a disease is more of a consequence than a predetermined genetic destiny. Anyway, we said our goodbyes. She mentioned seeing me again in September, and I managed to squeeze out a strained, "Thank you, goodbye." All in all, I feel a million times better than I did before. I've been drinking that ginger tonic since Tuesday, and I think I've actually lost a couple of pounds. I was 189, but I can definitely tell by my gut that it's dropping. They say ginger balances digestion, helps with weight loss, and is great for detoxing the lungs. So, I'm sticking with it. Who knows what else might help?
I’ve got to head over to my crazy therapist today. Honestly, I’m hoping I don't walk back in here and snap at anyone. Consider this my pre-emptive apology. Please, just bear with me. She’s going to drill me again. It’s always the same loop: "How are you doing?" "What's cooking?" "Are you taking care of yourself?" Like, seriously, if you actually want to help, just hand me a million dollars, find me a great girl, and get me a house in a nice suburb so I can actually get my life together instead of dealing with this nonsense. It feels like I'm talking to a toddler sometimes. You never know which way she's going to swing. It’s like she's playing games with my head. It's exhausting. And I feel like I can't even change; everyone is exactly the same. So, apologies in advance if I show up home looking absolutely livid. I’ll try my best to keep it together.
Dr. Diego, I know I didn't exactly help you out much with my last post since I ended up writing stuff I probably shouldn't have. But hey, if you want to give your logic and confidence a little boost—and honestly, it’s great for your lungs because it helps clear out all that junk—then listen up. I smoke, so I speak from experience here. Try some ginger tea; it’s incredibly relaxing. Just a heads-up though: ginger is pretty potent, so don't go overboard. Stick to no more than two 7-ounce servings a day. Here’s how you do it: grab some fresh ginger, wash it well, and grate it after peeling off that brown skin. You want about a tablespoon of grated ginger. Boil some water—maybe a bit more than you'll actually need, say about a cup and a half. Once the water hits a boil, take it off the heat first, then stir in your grated ginger. Let it steep for anywhere from 10 to 20 minutes, depending on how hot you like your tea. Whatever you do, don't let it sit for less than 10 minutes. You can drink it hot or cold, just don't exceed those two cups. It's a small thing, really. You could even toss the extra grated ginger into your food if you want.
Look, I’m not saying you’re crazy, even if you have a "diagnosis" on paper. This is something else entirely. Honestly, I think people read way too much into this stuff. You listen to these experts talking about neurotransmitters and serotonin levels, and suddenly you think you're just a walking database of biological chemicals. That’s not how it works. I remember when my doctors were trying to convince me that my brain was just low on serotonin or whatever, even though I felt perfectly fine. Don't go reading all that junk online and acting like you've got the cure yourself, you know? There are plenty of herbal teas out there, but you have to be incredibly careful. You can't just drink anything if you're already on medication—especially psychotropic drugs. There's a whole world of options, really. Just check them out.
Take me, for example. I tried hibiscus once. Big mistake. That’s why I’m telling you to watch yourself. I’ve seen people drink up to twelve cups a day without a second thought. Well, I made mine a little too strong, and man, once it kicked in... my heart started racing, I could barely breathe, and I'm pretty sure my blood pressure tanked. But once the dust settled, it felt like I had taken ten of the pills I'm on now. It gave me this massive boost, like everything just suddenly felt bright again. My family keeps telling me there are natural ways to fix everything, but honestly, I’m too scared to try it again because you can't risk your life when you're on prescription meds. I picked it up at Whole Foods. But hey, using natural remedies for treatment is a whole different conversation.
I haven't read everything you wrote, but I have to say, you’re actually quite amusing in a certain way—it's almost endearing. You know, there are people living with schizophrenia who can be surprisingly witty and good company; I actually know someone like that myself.🍿
Now, Dr. Diego is a different story entirely. He’s much more serious and acutely aware of the reality of his situation. One could argue he’s fighting this illness quite effectively, which is why the moderator dubbed him a fighter—which is a nice sentiment, I suppose—but is it enough? Honestly, I suspect Diego has set some incredibly lofty standards for himself, standards that are often difficult to reach even for people without any health struggles at all, let alone for someone managing schizophrenia.
Dr. Diego, look, this is exactly why I’m drawn to this whole thing. It calls to my soul. Because there, they tell you straight up: the one feeding you is the one guiding you. When you try these medicinal drink treatments—before you even swallow the Ayahuasca—the shaman basically tells you, "You’re about to get a thousand psychotherapy sessions packed into a single night." To me, that just makes sense. Going to a traditional therapist feels like such a slog; you have to go back and dig through ten years of trauma, and what if the therapist is incompetent and leads you down a dead end? I see people posting here saying things like, "Your mother didn't nurse you right." Sure, maybe she didn't. But why? What was wrong with her that she couldn't do it right? Why was she so dissatisfied? Honestly, I don't think my mom failed me like that. She was an angel; she used to sing to me constantly, and she kept singing right up until the end. We just got hit hard by sickness. She developed diabetes and fell into a coma; I was the one trying to wake her up, calling 911, all that. Everything went south after that. She almost died from tuberculosis because it spread so fast when she refused to see the doctor, and she ended up in the ICU at Mayo Clinic. That whole ordeal just wrecked us. No one knew how to handle it. And then, on top of that, we dealt with the war, being broke, the constant struggle for money... it's been everything. Now, my brother calls me up and says he wants to help me buy a washing machine. He means well, offering to let me pay him back in installments through him, but I told him, "No thanks." I don't want to be stuck owing money ten months from now. I just said no, and he was totally cool about it. He wasn't even mad! He just said, "Okay, man, whatever you want." Why were things always so difficult before? Now it's just, "If you don't want to, okay. No problem." And because of all that life stuff, I feel like I’d need ten years of psychiatry to process it all. But instead, you go to a jungle clinic where you get the full picture—past, present, and future—all at once. Everything connects. Sure, it probably takes ten months to fully recover, but at least you come out healed, or at least finally seeing the problems for what they are. Everyone has their own path, I guess.
Dr. Diego, if I’m reading you right, you’re living with roommates rather than your parents. If that's the case, honestly, that's great. Having roommates is fine, though having your own place—your own studio apartment—would be even better. 🙂 You know, just having that space where you can do whatever you want. If you feel like walking around naked through your apartment, go for it. But have you ever thought about stopping this cycle of constantly catering to everyone else's needs? I mean, meeting other people's expectations? I knew these guys back in college who were basically forced by their parents to pursue certain degrees. One guy I knew... man, it was heavy. His dad pushed him first, then his mom, and he was so attached to her that he just went along with it. It wasn't until she passed away, maybe five or six years ago, that he finally realized he actually hated that career path. He couldn't stand it. Now he's looking for something entirely different. What I'm trying to say is, you don't have to wait until you're an adult and your parents pass away to find yourself. Most people only find true clarity after they lose them, and even then, it's bittersweet. You'll look back at those old memories—some good, some pretty ugly—and think, "My God, why did I put myself through that?" But regarding the whole college thing, you don't need to wait for tragedy to strike to realize what you want. It's better to finish your education on your own terms now. You see what I mean? You have to learn how to stop living for everyone else's habits and demands. The "you must do this" and "you have to do that" mentality is real. And I get it, it's tough because they're your parents. They genuinely believe they know what's best for you. But at the end of the day, you're the one who knows what's in your heart. You know what you truly want and how you want to live your life, regardless of whatever plans they might have mapped out for you.
Rebecca Rivera3 said:Nicole Barrett76, your question is... well, complicated. However, research has demonstrated that a human hug can reduce fear and anxiety, which provides a certain level of support. Ultimately, it comes down to the individual doctor and how willing they are to cross that line to offer comfort while waiting for an injection to take effect. Whether such an act is considered moral or immoral depends entirely on the specific details and the circumstances surrounding the situation.
For instance, the psychiatrist I saw would know that doing something like that would be inappropriate, because even his initial demeanor was unprofessional—the way he looks at me makes it impossible to ignore. I can see a hidden desire in his eyes as he types away at his computer... that's why I avoid male doctors. Honestly, I don't have to look far to see this pattern; none of my male friends have ever wanted to be "just friends"—eventually, everyone wants more. It seems like men have a genetic predisposition toward it; I honestly wonder how any of them manage to stay monogamous. And of course, I ended up having to see a male psychiatrist at the local medical center. I don't really have a choice; I either go or I don't... haha, though usually, I just don't go.
Why does every damn man think beauty is all in the eye of the beholder when it clearly isn't? 🙂
Rebecca Rivera3 said:Nicole Barrett76, your question is... well, complicated. However, research has demonstrated that a human hug can reduce fear and anxiety, which provides a certain level of support. Ultimately, it comes down to the individual doctor and how willing they are to cross that line to offer comfort while waiting for an injection to take effect. Whether such an act is considered moral or immoral depends entirely on the specific details and the circumstances surrounding the situation.
For instance, the psychiatrist I saw would know that doing something like that would be inappropriate, because even his initial demeanor was unprofessional—the way he looks at me makes it impossible to ignore. I can see a hidden desire in his eyes as he types away at his computer... that's why I avoid male doctors. Honestly, I don't have to look far to see this pattern; none of my male friends have ever wanted to be "just friends"—eventually, everyone wants more. It seems like men have a genetic predisposition toward it; I honestly wonder how any of them manage to stay monogamous. And of course, I ended up having to see a male psychiatrist at the local medical center. I don't really have a choice; I either go or I don't... haha, though usually, I just don't go.
Nicole Barrett76 said:I don’t recall ever asking that on the politics forum, so if there were any responses back then, they have completely slipped my mind. My curiosity stems from something I read quite some time ago—I believe it was a psychiatrist who remarked that no ordinary fear can truly compare to the sheer terror experienced by those living with schizophrenia.
And consider this scenario... if an injection only requires five minutes to take effect, what is the alternative? Is it better to leave a patient alone to endure those five minutes of pure, unadulterated trembling and dread? (Of course, we aren't just talking about schizophrenia here; it could simply be a "mere" panic disorder)
The idea of a hug is certainly open to interpretation. However, if I were to see a family member being held by the hand or gently comforted by a psychiatrist or a nurse—provided they were tucked away in a quiet, private space far from the prying eyes of passersby—then I truly wouldn't find any reason to make a fuss about it.
In fact, I would be deeply moved to see someone show that level of care for one of my own family members.
But man, don't you get it? An injection just numbs the symptoms. It helps in the moment, sure, but at the end of the day, the real question is: what is that person actually terrified of deep down?
Rebecca Rivera3 said:Poverty just makes everything worse. When you're struggling financially, you can't afford the kind of support you actually need, and what the government provides is rarely enough to get someone back on their feet or even able to work. So, what's the alternative? The only answer I see is helping ourselves... Even if a state psychiatrist wants to help me more than anyone else—I don't know why, maybe he just likes me or feels sorry for me—it still doesn't solve the core issue. So... the question remains, what is the right way to handle this? I believe everyone has to help themselves as much as possible, even when it’s incredibly difficult, and sometimes people simply can't, which I understand. I've been in a position where I was completely stuck myself. But as long as I am able, I try not to spend my hard-earned money on psychotherapy. It's not because I think it's useless, but because I truly believe that through sheer strength and willpower, you can pull yourself up. At the end of the day, no one can help you as much as you can help yourself.
darksurfer4 said:You are talking absolute nonsense here; there was never this intense stigma surrounding malignant tumors (at least not twenty years ago), people spoke openly about it, and there was genuine empathy. Perhaps what we are seeing now is simply a heightened awareness regarding preventative screenings and better treatment options.
Regarding the "schizo" label, there isn't even that kind of stigma among decent, reasonable people (meaning anyone who hasn't turned into a hardline right-wing zealot), so you really don't need to lose sleep over it...
But honestly, that’s just the truth. I certainly didn't feel that way. And where on earth did that nickname come from? It makes no sense. What are you even talking about?
Hey, just give me an honest answer here. If you actually had schizophrenia—just for the sake of the argument—what would be your move? Regardless of the diagnosis, would you rather date a caricature of a woman who works in big pharma? You know, someone who looks incredible, is clearly loaded, and probably knows her way around the bedroom, if you catch my drift? Or would you go for someone more low-key and down-to-earth? Like, maybe someone who dresses simply and works at a local boutique or a small shop?
blueheron7 said:There is a compelling video on YouTube where Jacob (IhaveSchizophrenia1) discusses his preference for a partner living with illness, as well as a child facing health challenges. It is a heavy subject, certainly, but I find myself in agreement with him: I would choose a partner with struggles over someone who is perfectly healthy. The same logic applies to a child. At least, that is my position. sry if anyone disagrees.
I have to disagree. Honestly, I think you’re missing the bigger picture here. That’s just a theoretical assumption, but real life is a completely different beast. Illness doesn't care about your plans, and it can absolutely tear a family apart. You’re looking at this through some sort of romantic lens, like there's some kind of "happiness" to be found in having a sick child or a sick partner. Trust me, it’s much better when everyone is healthy. I really don't get the philosophy behind wanting a child to be sick either. Sure, maybe a partner is fine now, but what happens down the road? In the beginning, they are supposed to be your rock. Life gets messy. You fight, you argue, whatever—but at the end of the day, who’s going to hold you? Who’s going to take care of the house or look after the kid if everyone is struggling?