Page Text: By a.thigpen In Journal , Personal , Uncategorized
Death is a weird thing, yet it is something that everyone has in common. Eventually, one day, every single one of us will die.
Death is something that I have always been afraid of. I never liked to think about it, talk about it, or acknowledge the fact that it would happen. In fact, the first thing my mind jumped to when my mom got sick is that I was going to lose her; my ultimate fear. In fact, while we were on vacation in May, when all of this started as a “kidney stone,” I had a nightmare where balls of fire rained from the sky and one hit my mom and I watched her burn to death in agony. I woke up and told her about it and she said “I’m not going anywhere any time soon, baby.” This statement was quite similar to all the encouragement that came from everyone when we received mom’s diagnosis:
“She’s a fighter.”
“Cancer isn’t a death sentence anymore.”
“Everything will be just fine.”
“God can perform miracles.”
Little did any of us know.
I remember sitting in the hospital room, hearing my mom’s lungs fill up, and my dad facing my sister and I saying “Well, I think we’re facing the end,” while tears just rolled down my face. I wanted it all to be another nightmare. But it wasn’t. It was real life. And I knew that this was going to take time to deal with and I was going to need professional help to get through this.
At my first appointment with my therapist, we went over the five stages of grief and talked about each one of them. Of course I was in denial, but then we got into deeper things and I shared my view on death with her. This time, I added that death didn’t scare me anymore and I didn’t even care if I died tomorrow. Of course she asked the whole “are you suicidal?” bit, but honestly I wasn’t. I can’t think of bringing that upon myself, I just honestly didn’t care if I died because I felt like I have nothing else to live for. I didn’t want to be in a world without my mom in it, and I still don’t.
I find myself wishing I were dead quite often, whether it be in my thoughts or in conversation. I’ve even texted Jacob saying that I hate my life and I don’t want to go on like this anymore. It’s sad and it hurts, but there is a large amount of truth in it as well.
My mind, though it may be bright and creative and whatever else people want to say about it, is a horrible creature. It often feels as if it is its own separate being. My mind drowns me in sorrow at night. It paints pictures of awful things that feel realistic and is a smooth talker that can make me believe, maybe even do, things that aren’t true and aren’t okay. I am scared of myself and often feel on the verge of a mental breakdown. I’ve even told my therapist that I’m afraid to be alone because I don’t know what my mind is capable of.
I guess the good news is that I am getting help. Even with that being said, I face these things daily and a lot of the time I want to give up and not get out of bed. But guilt eats me alive because if I don’t do my daily routine and act like life is continuing on, people will be concerned. The last thing I want is people worried about me. By telling people what goes on and bugging them with my problems, it just generates sympathy, which really doesn’t help anyone. No matter what anyone says or does, nothing is going to bring back my mother, so why should I burden other people with my issues?
I already know that I have anxiety, but I often wonder if I have depression too. I’ve told my therapist about all of these thoughts and feelings, my issues with sleeping, my extreme emotional swings, everything going on in my mind, but she hasn’t thought much of it. I’ve told her that I’m afraid to have a mental breakdown and she didn’t seem to bat an eye. I guess this is “normal,” but it certainly doesn’t feel that way.
Maybe this all sounds dramatic or embellished or you think it’s a cry for attention, but this is only a small part of the things I’m experiencing. Believe it or not, writing is at least somewhat therapeutic for me. I like to organize my thoughts into words. I like to blog. Plus, I guess it’s supposed to be good to talk about what you’re feeling and thinking. At least this way, people have the option to click away if they don’t want to hear it.
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