Okay, so basically, having genes sucks big time, if you ask me (of course I know you weren't asking me, but I'm telling you anyway). Granted, if you're mother is a 106-year-old Chinese lady, you probably hit evolutionary jackpot, but with my family, it sucks. Think of the most annoying and scary heredital illnesses, and you can be sure someone in my family had them: all sorts of cancer, depression, glaucoma, and what have you not. And yes, they're mostly passed on through the female side. Thanks mom. On top of that, I inherited my dad's hypochondria, and that combination, I tell you, is a match made in heaven.
You know, at least with psychic stuff, there's something to be done about it. It's a family heritage that you can't escape to some extend, but at least you can distance yourself from it or accept it, you can try changing it. No talking cure for genes, unfortunately.
I thus officially declare war with my body. I feel strangely at its mercy; and I hate that.
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