the fear of death

the fear of death is much more common than i realized. 

but i am so increasingly horrified of living. 

the idea of experiencing a full, grounded, fulfilling life, marrying, growing old, and dying in a hospital surrounded by my children, grandchildren, and so on absolutely nauseates me. i am filled with an overwhelming sense of anxiety at the thought of going on, existing through every good and bad experience, making choices and understanding i must be conscious through decades of lived life, knowing minutes will feel strenuous and eternal and years looked back on will be a blur. knowing that out of every individual moment i live, i will not remember most of it. i do not remember the walk to the fridge. i do not remember sitting down with my laptop when i had the urge to write.

i will not act in reprisal at my inevitable expiration. each unexpected aberration leaves me in a cold sweat wondering how much further life will yank me along on this leash until i am dragged through more mud and out again, feeling the dirt and rocks scrape my skin against the pavement. i am cold and blue and i am already dead. i am a walking corpse among the living and i fear any shock has lost its chance at bringing hot, warm blood into my cold limbs. the vivacity in a meat puppet will fool any set of eyes if the haze is thick enough. i will not succumb to the life of a submissive, docile housewife drained of personality and courage and self-worth. tradition will not shape my life. i will not forfeit myself to false remedies and distraction from the sacrifice of anothers eudaimonia. i will not become my father, but, i have already become my father. i am an amalgamation of every personality i've encountered, a cacophony of every voice jumping around in my skull. 

i rot faster than any of them. i am not afraid to die because i am already dead. my rotten flesh peels away from my bones, my mind is made of maggots. it is almost comical how my corpse heaves itself along its path, a non-sentient intelligent being questioning why its blood no longer feels warm. why its skin is so pale. why its body always aches. its convenient avoidance of the obvious truth. its impending doom closing in on it as it watches the world crumble around it. this corpse confuses itself, its cowardliness contradicting its obsession with self destruction.

complicated theories in a futile attempt at making sense of my surroundings, convoluted with fear and disgust and anxiety. and the life of a corpse must come to an end eventually. by my own hands or an outside source, it shall end. and each passing day convinces me further the latter seems not to be an option. death does not scare me. the wave returns to the ocean and is at peace. but dyING, that is what i am afraid of. the chance of being in unbearable agony and emotional distress in my fleeting last moments before i go. the pain with no relief. an angry end is what i fear. 

or, the chance of dying for only a moment and being resurected where i lay, having a near death experience and experienceing the pain of death and living on.

edgy angst post, my fault guys