Today I feel disconnected from everything. I can’t seem to connect the dots. I’m losing sense of the world around me.
Lately, I’ve had to think about death (not entirely on purpose). I won’t go into too much detail as it’s not that relevant at the moment. So I sit there and think to myself, if I had to give my personal belongings to someone who would that be and why. After some thought, I realised it doesn’t really matter what I think because, as soon as I die no one can ask me why.
I no longer give myself that 100year mark. As a child I swore I’d make a century. Now, I speak honesty and know I could die anytime and to be honest, I’d be lucky to make it to seventy. Some may see this as a negative but if there’s one thing I’ve noticed in humans, it’s that we sometimes hide behind reality. Some of us believe that death is a bad thing and sometimes it’s unspoken of. I can’t deny that I fear the day I leave but it’s for reasons much deeper beyond the pain. I may be naive and associate death with the word rather than the action but it feels realistic that way.
Growing up, age didn’t exist to me. I felt like an older person in a little mind. I had closer bonds with my father’s friends than my own. I could connect deeper with people triple my age. I think it’s the wisdom and the life experience they could share that kept me intrigued or the way I could feel free and open about myself without worry of judgement. The reason I’m bringing the age up here is because I find with my older friends, I talk about death freely. I constantly tell them they can’t die unhappy or unfulfilled. I constantly nag them to do more of what they enjoy because in time they won’t be able to and they can’t live the last years with regret. What I never really thought was, what they must think of this twenty four year old lacking life experience, is telling them about their own life.
I find it very surreal, looking back at myself with depression. I thought of death in a very raw way. I was open to it, just waiting for the day to come. I invited it in, whenever it wanted to take me. I felt I had nothing to offer the world and that I was a waste of space. I didn’t fear death at all then. I saw light in dying by escaping the darkness but I knew I had the inner strength to pull through because not once did I want to take my own life. Deep down I appreciated life and couldn’t end anything without natural cause. It’s tricky to explain but I basically felt like I would be cheating my way out and it’s not fair to do that. Probably the Aspie in me saved me.
Anyway, since I’ve been around the right people and helpful support I’ve changed rapidly (well, nearly two years). I know feel I do have a lot to give to the world. I am passionate about certain things that I need to keep an eye on. I found love and I really don’t want to die because of him. I just want to spend as much our precious time together and share many experiences before we do die (hopefully hit the seventy mark at least)! When I see myself as the depressive woman, I feel sorry for that person I once was. If anything it has made me very empathetic to depression and mental disorders. It’s refreshing to wake up and have a goal in mind.
I’ve noticed a few changes in myself other than the thoughts of death changing. I have become more accepting of balance. Life can’t always be perfect, there will be a few obstacles in the way but it’ll balance out soon enough. I am now able to see a story from both sides and always consider the third story – what actually happened.
Well that’s what’s on my mind tonight guys. Sorry if it’s brought the dark fear to mind, I do apologise!