I’ve decided to start writing about the things that I can’t even talk about – at least not without cracking some lame joke and making it seem like yeah, it’s a thing, but I don’t care too much – because there’s no way I am going to let go, grow, or figure out how to deal with these things.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve been terrified of death. As a young child – well before my father passed away, I wanted to know when I was going to die. I was stressed about it. As a teenager, when my anxiety decided to torture my mind, I’d lie in bed crying over the possibility of death. I used to console myself with the thought that maybe I won’t have to die. I had just finished the Left Behind series and started studying with the Jehovah’s Witnesses – while looking into other religions. Maybe, I would tell myself, Jesus would come back before I get too old and die. Somehow, that thought brought me comfort. When that thought didn’t completely alleviate my fears, I told myself that my death wouldn’t matter too much once I had children. Though the fear has lingered in the back of mind, I haven’t freaked out too much over it. That is, until the last few weeks. I just realized how old I am – how much closer to death, and I’m still here. Not to mention how fast the last 15 years have gone by. Jesus didn’t come to hang out and stop this whole death thing. I don’t have kids, and I may never have children. How can I let go of this fear? I used to feel safe, almost immortal, around those I was in love with – but they’re gone, too. I’m left to myself and my own thoughts … and I’m forced to face this – either develop a faith strong enough or be okay with the unknown.
But I am not okay with the unknown. Very much like Gus in TFiOS, I fear oblivion. I’m pretty sure this is a universal fear – it just manifests itself in different ways. My psychology professor once said most people aren’t so much scared of death, but they’re scared of the way they’ll die. I am scared of death under any circumstances, because what if that’s it? I know I sound like I have absolutely no faith, and granted my faith is lacking, but what if? What if I cease to exist and all that I’ve known, my memories and experiences, everything I care about – it has no meaning. I start to take a C.S. Lewis-like approach to this thought – asking myself why does this bother me so much? Because I am me. I cannot cease to exist. I am more than this body. Maybe the reason I feel this way, the reason why the mere idea of ceasing to exist troubles me so, it’s something that is so contrary to what my soul knows to be true. Perhaps my soul knows things that my mind cannot understand. That’s why I say, “I want to go home” when I am already home. A part of me I am unaware of knows the truths my mind won’t recognize.
… And though that thought brings comfort, here I am wishing that I could have some sort of miracle. Some sort of sign – angels appearing in my room, telling me that everything is going to be okay … But let’s be real, even if that did happen, I’d probably go to the ER and have myself admitted into a psych unit. Instead I fell asleep last night with the light on, praying that I could escape these thoughts and know. The rational part of my mind says none of us will know anything until it happens.
Yet, I managed to stop worrying. I managed to calm down, and actually get sleep – which I haven’t been able to do in weeks.
… And maybe that is sign enough – because even with all my doubt, I somehow found comfort in the very thing I am struggling to have faith in.
Serendipity Minds 