Death.. it’s not what you think
I don’t know why but ever since I was a child I was soulfully drawn to a character in a drama series I’m to embarrassed to mention the name - She said somehow she’d always known she would die young and indeed she did.
Ever since I’ve never really managed to let it go. I contemplated death from an incredibly young age and I’ve never really known why. No one close to me had even ever died when I was a child, yet death and the concept of the non-existence was constantly on my mind.
I recall for some reason I always thought about it every time we would drive through this one curve of the road near my grandparents home that would trigger it. Every time they drove past it on the way to drop me off at home I would immediately imagine non-existence, something I possibly couldn’t grasp. For some reason “nothingness” terrified me.
Death seems to be motif throughout my life, but to an abnormal degree. Ever since I could cognitively dream, I had only and ONLY had lucid nightmares. I was aware. But never fully in control. If I screamed, my voice disappeared. If ran I’d move in slow motion. If I covered my eyes from gore or horror my hands and eyelids would turn transparent. I think about the age of 5/6 I finally managed to gain enough control to do one thing and one thing alone…Kill myself
It was the only escape. The simulated pain of death within a dream was much more bearable than the nightmares themselves - even though I experienced genuine pain while doing it sometimes.
One time in particular there was nothing to kill myself with. No tall building. No bridge. No water. No knife. Nothing…
smashing my face into my wall - until I woke up.
In fact recently I had a similar lucid nightmare.
The problem with lucid dreams is that the deeper you go the more real and tactical they feel... and the more you feel.
I often recall ever tactical piece of physical items in my dreams, analyzing them with my hands and fingertips in awe, amazement and sometimes fear at how real they felt. There was no physical telling in the difference between the dream and reality itself. Only the conscious tells whether it is or isn’t a dream - normally due to the absurdity of their nature.
In this Dream people or things were chasing me. Fear pure fear. I don’t know why. But all I knew was that THAT emotional pain was so unbearable that the risk of the pain of jumping headfirst off a bridge was worth it. I took a moment, feeling the scratchy grit of the cold metal poles of the bridge railings inside my sweaty palms. ‘This felt real’ I knew it. ‘But I had to’, it was the only way to escape. I was no longer in the lucid state of being able to control my environment only myself. I had to fight every instinct any real person would jumping head first into the low ground, the only difference was that little shred of hope - that maybe - just maybe I would wake up from the impact before I could feel anything.
I wonder if that’s what people who jump off buildings think as they’re falling down and there’s no turning back - that maybe - just maybe - they’ll die before they feel any true pain.
I paused writing this. A sudden chilly reminder came over me of a boy who momentary lost his sanity and indeed jumped head first down the stairs and indeed died. My friend saw it... I just felt a memory of a dream doing the same thing. That was weird.. I’m moving on
So right death. Another theme I carry is the need to resolve things with everyone and anyone I have encouraged to the point that it is either annoying or maddening for other people.
I guess I felt and still feel like I’m in a perpetual awareness of my death possibly arriving on tomorrows door.
Or perhaps I just want to feel lighter, because everything else, all the hidden things were too heavy to carry on their own. Like a camel’s back I could handle no straw - or more yet not even a feather.
I guess that makes me rather pathetic in other people’s eyes. But perhaps those are normally the eyes of someone who has not felt that weight.
I’m aware that a kg/ton of feathers is the same as a kg/ton of straws ( a metaphor for different the forms of pain if you didn’t catch that) - but how strong are the camel’s legs? How wounded are they? How well nourished were they since they were born? Are they loved or lashed?
Perhaps the weight may seem the same to outsiders eyes however - how it feels internally cannot be seen but merely felt by those who themselves have experienced it or at least something very similar.
I think I have a very confusing and troubling relationship with Death. On one side it always made me aware of the appreciation of my existence (the physical world, emotions, senes, conceptualization)
But on the other side it always came with an impending sense of constant pressure to fulfill my deeds and “pay my debt” in some sense. perhaps that’s not the right way to say it. More like “do the best I can” you know? Leave your mark on the world, give something back, make a positive impact as your farewell.
Which could either be unrealistic or perhaps it is just my assumption how grander that impact has to be. Something big. Something that says “The carbon footprint left by this one was worth it” haha.
Is that silly? Is that normal? Do other people feel this way or is everyone right about me? That I put too much pressure on myself.
Which too within itself seems to be a contradiction since society itself, friends, family, work, reputation, sustainability all requires pressure.
Some say I over think. While I think others under think.
Which is funny - considering I once had a lectuer tell me I was under thinking a script concept when in reality he was under thinking and unwilling to assume it had any more nuances or complexities that was an incredibly difficult topic to tackle.
It’s funny how sometimes you can seem stupid when you try explain something complex because the jargon and general context / information you’ve build up over time seems so obvious to you. Without that context your explanations can become muddled - since they would require a lot of time to give the context.
Quantum Physics for example. I remember trying to explain the concept to my friends in high school. It seemed… crazy - ridiculous - stupid - pseudo. In a strange retaliation my ex BFF went to the science teacher and queued it to come back to our group to tell me I was wrong (after we all agreed to have dropped it by the way).
I of course responded “Yes because a person who’s literally only studied a high school’s equivalent of physics would have the knowledge of a field way beyond her years and degree”
Eh.. School. Not so much friends. More just the people you settle for. Looking back all my relationships were pretty toxic - aside from one. I wrongfully teased my one friend for having hairy legs once and I still feel really bad about it today, in fact I messaged her a few years ago about it saying sorry.
But what the rest did to me… was.. ah.. definitely not on the same scale. I was betrayed a lot.
I got use to betrayal from a young age. Families seem to think it’s funny to undermine things that are important to children. It’s like they seek joy from it, I think they think it’s fun for the kids but it’s not.
Having your secrets shared between your family and laughed at as a child is.. betrayal. Being neglected, left in unsafe or unhealthy hands, unjustifiably disciplined … physically disciplined - are all betrayals.
I got accustomed to it. Silence was the way. Never tell anyone anything. People don’t help you anyway. In fact they often use it against you. Or worse undermine your pain.
It was strange.. I was clearly bullied. Yet I was the one who got sent to a shitty - oh lets just distract you for a bit but not really do anything- school councilor.
Death… mm. death death death. I understand the contemplation at around the time I started school, but why when I was like little little? Why have I always been crushed so easily?
Why was I always a target?
Did I want pity? no.. maybe sometimes (not that THAT ever worked - but no mostly it is was genuine emotion and debilitating pain. Crying. Freezing. Hyper-ventilating.
I wonder if I did it to myself. Had I done something so outright bizarre that deemed my the school target? What it cause I was a year younger? Was the shame of teachers shouting at me due to my ADD in front of my class.
Or was I just Overly Empathetic? I remember my first day of school…. the teacher shouted at a girl next to me and I started crying - she in turned shouted at me for crying.
Despite being broke now I did have money as a kid. Not like the rich kids of the school but, I had lunch money. Maybe that was it. I shared it too often maybe?
Was I too honest? Too weird? Too much of a push over? It was everything I had every been taught to my by mother’s side of the family. The family I mostly grew up in.
It’s quite sad. My mom could write a way better book full of funny characters and bizarre relatives like a movie - all the drama - the comedy. She started writing - it was good too. But she was too tired from work and stopped.
I think it’s sad because my stories aren’t funny.. just sad. Maybe with some beautiful moments (although the best ones would be indescribable). I think hers would have been better. A story a woman overcoming a broken abusive family and poverty who worked her way to the top of owning her own company.
While mine just feels like a bummer… maybe that’s just because it isn’t finished yet.
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