Tuesday, April 5, 2011

I Get A Funky High From A Yellow Sun

I wish the real world would just stop hassling me....

It is kinda funny sitting here on my bed in an empty apartment, 100 miles away from home and any type of "comfort zone," thinking about my childhood. I guess it was relatively normal. Nothing really strange happened. Nothing too tragic. I had some obscure family issues, but other than those minor setbacks, I guess I had a typical childhood.

So this arouses the question in me: If my childhood was so normal, why is my adulthood so strange?

It feels weird to be 21. It feels weird to be almost done with college. It feels weird to be thinking about grad schools and careers. It feels weird to be thinking about marriage and kids. It feels weird to know that one day, I'll be old.

I remember being 6 and playing in the yard with my father's dog, Reebok. She was an older St. Bernard and was blind in one eye and completely deaf. I asked my father how old she was, and he said that in human years, she was 16. He said in dog years that's almost 100. I remember being so amazed that something could be 16 years old. I thought that was just the oldest thing in the world to me. I looked at the graying muzzle and hazy eyes of my father's best friend, and vowed to never turn 16 if that's what it looked like.
Two days later, Reebok had a massive doggy stroke and had to be put down.
Cue the first time I ever saw my father cry.

I was so blindsided by my first experience with death. There was something about it that confused me, yet there was also something about it that struck up a morbid fascination inside of me. I wanted to learn more about it. I wanted to be around it. I needed to know how this death thing worked and why it had to happen.

I found myself asking friends and family members what death meant to them. Some answered with it meant they got to go to heaven. Some answered with it meant they got to go on a little vacation and would see everyone again someday. Some answered with it meant they no longer got to see everyone, but they could always watch them and guide them along the right path.
They all sugar coated the hell out of death for me.

I was an innocent little 6 year old, asking questions most 50 year olds weren't even brave enough to ask.

What is death? What happens when we die? What does death mean?

Is death the ending or just the beginning? How are we so sure of an afterlife? We are told to blindly believe in the faith of Jesus Christ and a "heaven" (or some other form of an afterlife. i.e. purgatory or hell), but does anyone really have solid, scientific proof of there being an eternal life after death?

The open-endedness of those questions scares the bejeezus out of me.

I've experienced more death in the past 6 months of my life than I have in the past 21 years of life combined. It seemed to be almost a domino effect. I've heard of people who have been married for long periods of time passing away within days of each other simply because of old age and the alleged love story ending of how they couldn't bear to live without their significant other, but this is getting ridiculous.  Is my family really that closely related that one death has the power to trigger more?

Or do triggers on guns have the power?

I've always understood natural deaths. I've never understood suicides though. How can one person be so miserable that they want to leave this world behind? Do they not take joy in sunny days? Warm showers after work? Coffee? Books? Fantasy sports leagues? Anything? Can one person be so truly, deeply miserable that honestly not a single thing on this entire planet makes them happy? Do we, as humans, really have the ability to feel that intensely?
....I guess we do.

I'd never commit suicide. Just let me state that. This is in no way a suicide related post. (I hate messes, therefore its just not a smart option.) But lately I have been thinking a lot about death. I have had nightmares at least once a night and in each one someone else from my life dies. It started off small, with just a pet hamster I had when I was eight. Then a friend. Then a distant relative. Then my boss. Then my older brother. Then....who knows. I've been too terrified by these dreams to sleep anymore. They come to me almost like visions of the future....and it really bothers me.

The ironic part of thinking about death so much is that its literally killing me. I'm exhausted from the lack of sleep, delirious, and cannot focus on anything longer than ten minutes.

I'm honestly worried about myself.

Something's gotta change. And soon.

I'm hoping that blogging about this and getting the thoughts out of my system might help. I know its a morbid post and not the funnest read, but it helps me. Besides, this is why I started this blog in the first place. Inner growth and personal identification. So I got it out of my system and just downed three tylenol pm....so let's hit the lights and see how this goes...

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