I used to be afraid all the time.
Afraid of not being perfect. Of doing something wrong. Afraid that people will find me out. But most of all, I was afraid of dying.
I don’t know what is going on with me, but I am reaching guru levels of zen when it comes to shit that used to terrify and torture me.
Regret? Not really an issue.
Giving a good shit? Done (this makes my job wonderful. My giveadamn is broken).
Caring what others think of me? HAHAHAHA
Of dying? Of death? Of shucking off the mortal coil?
Non-existent (no pun intended).
I don’t know. It’s really strange. I was sitting on the couch the other day, doing the throat thing that I do where I swallow with nothing in my mouth to test for the throat cancer that will end my lifeomgIcanfeelitgrowinginmenow, and I had one really wonderful thought. I imagined what death would be like. It wasn’t corpses and rotting (I’m reading a book about a mortician, so this shit is in the forefront of my mind). It was literally nothing.
I wouldn’t be aware that I was dead, because I wouldn’t exist anymore. Instead, it would just be silence. Darkness. Or, even, light. But it would be nothing. All my swirling thoughts, all my neuroses, all that is the cacophony that clangs on every minute of every day inside my mind would be reduced to silence. Peace, even.
I know this sounds morbid as fuck, but in that moment, I felt a warmth towards death. It wasn’t fatality and futility; it was liberation.
Now, I am not suicidal. I am not idealizing death or anything. Death is sad for those left behind. I witnessed that first-hand when one of my best friends died.
But, it won’t be sad for me BECAUSE I WON’T BE AROUND TO CARE.
So I am going to enjoy my time here. To be kinder to myself, and take more chances. Because, really, what do I have to lose?
I find comfort in knowing that this won’t last forever, and at the end of it, there will only be oblivion.