Sunday, June 12, 2016

NO ONE TELLS ME WHAT TO DO...NOT EVEN ME

     I hate that I have to state this outright because people can be fucking idiots but I'm not suicidal, not even when I'm low. I don't actually want to die no matter how annoyed I get at circumstances. I'd be perfectly content with immortality coupled with invincibility (and then making damn sure I keep out of cities and caves): I sincerely believe I have the kind of mindset one would need to tolerate immortality.

    However, I know I'm going to die and in those moments of moriturism, I get frustrated. There's no joy in ellipsism nor is there in coming to terms with all of my being coming to naught. While some may escape into religious promises of an eternal afterlife, for a long time I've not been able to justify my fear of not existing in that manner and yet, despite that indescribable sadness that my borrowed time must some day be repaid, I'm reminded that I really do hate being told what to do and dying really seems like the ultimate form of that...at least when it's allowed to play out on its own.

     Because some day my body WILL betray me and I will die. It could be sudden or it could be a long-term thing like cancer, but regardless of the form it shall take, death will become me and I will have no say in the matter.

     Unless...

     And then I thought how suicide is a curious solution to this dilemma absent me actually having been born a god and not having realized that yet. Suicide is the both the ultimate expression of wrath as well as a personal statement to the universe itself saying that, while I must die, I will not do so on your terms!

    And I admit...I kinda like that.

    Now if only I had a clue as to when my body planned on making its exit...

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