I find myself thinking about death a great dealy lately. I think it started as a recurring theme of my thoughts after I realized that I am turning 25 in six months. 25 is an age I think I never really imagined reaching. I imagine getting old, but it’s indefinitely old — there’s never a number associated like 25 and still not having done so much with my life.
But what one has done with one’s life is relative and, even then, how much one has gotten out of one’s experiences is not directly proportional to one’s experiences.
Regardless, death keeps coming to mind. As I considered the fact that I am not entirely content with the tattoo on my stomach (which is somewhat poorly done and on a stomach that would not be impressive without the tattoo), I thought that at least it wouldn’t last forever. But it does last forever in my life. It’s there for another seventy five years perhaps, but when it’s gone, so will I be gone.
Death is an abyss that corrupts as one stares into it — because there is nothing to be seen, one invents something to see. Amid void, man invents demons. This is the meaning of paranoia — where there is no evidence to the contrary, one assumes the worst.
[bear in mind that's 6 in the morning and that i'll attempt to write this message entirely in english... i'm sure this will feel like a vomit of thoughts, with its incoherences... but aren't our minds a little bit bulimic sometimes? lol]
you’re not the one. since i was a teen (haven’t we all gone through this oh-no-i’m-gonna-die phase? lol) there’ve been lots of nights when darkness turns up as a reminder of what will come one day for sure. just black. nothing else. the nothing. that’s it. the feeling of it is so damn opressing that one can’t help but notice the threatening fear seizing their whole body. i don’t even bother thinking about my life, about what i’ve done, what i’ll do, what could’ve been… i can only wonder what’s the purpose of it all, of this tiny amount of time that is our lives when we will be forever dead… realizing we’ll be one day confronting this abyss ends up entaling a really annoying anxiety. and fear, lots of invincible fear.
but have you ever noticed that there are LOTS of people who are able to blank out or censor the thought of their own dead? this seems to me rather unbelievable. i find it hard to understand, how can anyone lead their life blinding themselves and getting (or pretending) to be happy by denying the imminent truth? one comes to feel kind of “superior” in a way… one’d rather experience a real HUMAN fear than a blind and fake happiness, right? for aren’t love and fear the basic, and therefore, ineludible human feelings?
un beso con insomnio,
___a r i a d n a___