Daily life with Thanatophobia!
I was asked how to “cope” with Thanatophobia, and really, that’s what all of this blog is about. In particular, I was asked how to cope with the idea of eternity and non-existence. I don’t have a good answer for that. I wish I did. It’s my fear, as well. I just have tools that I use.
Perhaps the best way to show those tools is to compare what my life was like pre-November, to what it is now.
Pre-November 2020, between June and November (when things were really bad), my life involved going to work, sending messages to my health team, checking symptoms on WebMD, overreacting to anything my mom or dad experienced, worrying about all the things I hadn’t gotten to do yet, making plans for if I have a year left to live and realizing the pandemic is ruining all of them, suffering from the pandemic in general, and feeling as if I had no one to talk to because I couldn’t see anyone. I would occasionally distract myself with video games, but I couldn’t focus. I had difficulties sleeping and spent many nights crying.
November 2020, I start to break down and realize I can’t go on like this. There were other breakthroughs before this time, involving starting therapy, and starting to take birth control, which has substantially helped with pain management, thus helping my anxiety.
My weeks now have structure. I can start to make plans again. I have a routine.
My usual weekday involves: waking up, going about my morning routine, exercise (sometimes), start work, meditate either at 10:30am or 3:30pm for 10 minutes, lunch at 1pm, drink an average of ~60-70oz of water/juice/milk/latte/etc., get off work, exercise (if not in the morning), work on any writing I have to do, eat dinner around 7pm-8pm (working on getting it closer to 7pm), shower, turn on something to watch, and prepare for sleep.
Wednesdays I also do some errand running, and sometimes therapy.
Thursdays involve organizing my meal plan for the week and going grocery shopping.
Friday usually involves a treat, like curry, sushi, Impossible Whopper – food I don’t have to make. It also involves a few clean-up chores before going out to get food.
Saturdays and Sundays involve video games during what are weekday work hours.
I’ll usually find ways to work in reading comics or manga, though I’m behind on that. Sunday also includes making the meals for the week (Buddha bowls lately). I want to get back into just reading novels, but I still haven’t been able to do that since I started working from home.
The death anxiety hits in moments around sleep time, which is why I tend to keep the TV on. It keeps me distracted for a while. When it fails, I’ll resort to other things, like turning on a show that I haven’t seen before so I can focus on it. This delays sleep and I don’t enjoy this much. I also have melatonin supplements, ASMR, and things like that which can help.
I’ve found that restoring a routine, meditation, and getting back on track with taking care of myself have helped immensely.
Pre-November, I wasn’t thinking much about what I’d eat. I’d go to the grocery store without a list, or a list of comfort foods, and that was that.
I would vary between days I went to get food at the grocery store. It wasn’t great.
Routine has helped me, because it offers me the illusion of control. I know any day I could die. I know any day, this could be it. I could go to the grocery store, and get hit by another car, and die.
When I think of it, though…of course, I’m upset, but would I do anything different? Would I rather go back to having a life without routine, without this illusion of control, where I was suffering daily, for hours on end? No, obviously I wouldn’t.
My time of suffering has become limited and far more manageable.
There are still days of terrible sleeplessness and restlessness. There are still nights of crying. There are still frustrations with the things I haven’t done. And there’s the ever present fear of the End, that is the End. Not the end of a video game that can be replayed, not the end of a book that can be re-read, but The End.
The Experience is Over, never to be enjoyed again.
My cat Mashpotatoes will never experience life again. When I want it to feel real, I think of that. It’s as close as I can get to touching what that’s like. I have two other cats now, Tarkin and Eriadu, and I love them. Their presence does not replace Mashpotatoes, though. Not that I wish not to have them in my life, or would trade one for the other – far from it. I have enjoyed each of them, uniquely.
Tarkin is my fierce mouser who is timid and prances around the house. Tarkin is the cat we shame for getting stuck in vents.
Eriadu is the cuddly sadist who drowns mice. Eriadu has the loudest purr I’ve ever heard. Eriadu is bolder than her brother.
And Mash was the most affectionate cat I knew, but she hated all other animals. Every human was her friend. She had the most calming blue eyes, and a cry that sounded like an infant – though she was Siamese, so that’s to be expected. She was with me through school, and died shortly after I was done with it. She lived with me for at least fifteen years, though I suspect she was at least sixteen.
And she will never live again. She will never return to me, or to anyone. She will no longer kill doves, or sleep besides me as I play video games. I will never hear her meow again.
I’m not okay with it, but I cannot change it.
Just as I cannot change that I was not there to celebrate Christmas one last time with my grandmother Mimi, and she will never know how sorry I am. She will never know anything.
How do I live, day to day, knowing this?
I remind myself that they are indeed gone. I will one day be gone. And I will one day be nutrients for life. I go about my routine, and face these fears at night, and think of how nice it was to know them – Mimi and Mash. How nice it is to have my parents, for parents. How much I adore my Tarkin and Eria. I think of the preciousness of living now, with Star Wars and Lord of the Ring films.
I think of what good I know.
There is good I will miss.
But happiness, as a feeling, is the same. So is gratitude.
I am missing out on experiences in the future. I have missed out on experiences in the past.
But we have gotten to live – and what a wonder that is.
I’ve found my way to help combat this dread in routine, in meditations, in thankfulness, and in not hiding from it. Yes, it’s terrible, yes it still makes me tear up, but it’s no longer ruling my every day.
This is the progress I’ve made.
This is the progress I am still making, because this is an EFFORT to stay true to these commitments to myself, when any day I could backslide because it’s easier to do less.
This is the progress I hope for you – I hope you find your tools in routine or spontaneity, in positive thinking, and in whatever else helps you.
I hope Death Anxiety ceases to rule your every day.