DEATH & RELEASE

I’m drinking some (read: lots of) wine to write this essay. Not to write this essay, just drinking it and listening to Florence and The Machine (if you don’t listen to them, you’re just dumb, they’re awesome).

Why am I writing it? God knows. Because I’m pretty sure not many people will read it. Not many people care. I don’t blame them. I don’t care either.

I don’t care if I live or die. Such a hateful thing I’m saying. It’s not that. My life is ok, I know I’m ungrateful. I DO know. I’ve got an OK life, I’m healthy, I’ve got a supportive and “normal” family. But you know what!? I wish I was dead. Yeah, I know it sounds like Lana Del Ray’s song — Dark Paradise — (BTW, do listen to it.) This phrase is from such song, but I do mean it. You may think I’m sick, I’m disturbed, but I…. I think I’m so evolved I am ready to accept death as my savior. What is death after all? If not a release from this burden of living? This burden of trying to make it, of trying to laugh, to live, to be happy, to make others happy, etc…

I may be putting it lightly. This thing called life. But if you really look at it, you are born, you get old, you date, you marry, you raise kids (most of us, at least), you try to make a living, you die. End of story.

I believe in something called “after life”, though I pray to God I don’t come back. God knows I’m tired of this life, just thinking about another is exhausting. Maybe that’s why we don’t remember our past lives. Karma is certainly a bitch. A fucking nasty bitch. Maybe I like my business unsolved, you know?!

I feel like I’m losing track of what I was actually going to say. This happens. A lot!

But you know what? I’m 21. I am far from normal 21's — the ones who don’t have much responsibility and just live and party and travel and shit — I worry about the future far too much. I worry about when my family is gone. When I am gone. I think about it. I think about death. And like I said, I’ve got an OK life. So, why if God were to come tonight and take me away, I wouldn’t object, I wouldn’t fear, I would welcome it with great and open arms? Why!?

Perhaps it’s depression. I don’t know. Is it? I’ve been to therapy. I’ve never actually discussed it. I’ve always kept it hidden for some reason. Maybe to tell myself I’m alright. I am not.

I am not taking away my life. This I can guarantee. I am not suicidal. God knows I could find ways to end it. I am not going to. I just wish a higher force, a higher power would take me and my pain away and make it fine.

Perhaps if I were more helpful towards my own self I wouldn’t want to be dead. I complain a lot. Complaining is what I do best. But I meditate, I go to the gym everyday, I’ve got an active life. Kind of. I’ve got friends. Not many. But enough to make me feel loved and wanted. However, they are not enough. Maybe this life itself ain’t enough for me.

I feel like I am just lost and tired. I get tired from my everyday routine — working and studying and dealing with other people B.S — though I mean tired, tired. Just done. Literally done.

Am I wrong? Am I morbid? Perhaps. Most likely. Thinking of a place where I no longer have to worry and where I can be the self I am meant to be — the one I still don’t know who it is — is freeing. Freeing and sacred.

This life is undefined, but death? Death is defined, and god willing, forever.