Been thinking a lot about death.
Not about suicide. Just death. More specifically, the fear of dying.
I feel like the fear grabs me by the throat with an invisible hand. No matter where I run, where I hide, what I do, what I don’t, if I’m good, or if I’m not, death is going to get to me someday. The when doesn’t matter. The fact that it’s going to come basically removes the worth of anything I may live before that. My death is the last thing I’ll ever live. I know that for a fact. So what’s the point to anything else?
This fear isn’t just in my mind, it affects my behaviour considerably. Many times I end up paralyzed when doing things or going places because I become incredibly aware of how fragile my body is.
And, yes, I’m already conscious that beyond some basic precautions, being overly aware of my own weakness isn’t going to prevent my death in case it happens, so I know intellectually that I may aswell forget about it and live normally. But knowing it doesn’t do the trick.
Sometimes I think that a lot of my suicidal ideation is just my mind trying to give me control over the unavoidable. Taking the matter in my own hands.
– I don’t want to die
– Then you shouldn’t have been born.
Note: Please refrain from giving me any religious advice. It’s just not going to work for me.