What Am I Afraid Of?

This is a good question. Not only that but it’s the kind of question that I actually don’t like running into because of how much this thought, or fear, affects me. Now, before I say what the fear is, I just have to say that I like living my life without knowing when it’s going to end. Not because I’m afraid of death but because I have always felt comfortable losing myself in what I enjoy, and for the most part I do enjoy life– for the most part.

It’s kind of like watching a movie without knowing the running time; you lose yourself in the storyline. You get caught up in what the characters are doing and when it finally ends, whether it’s a nice or tragic ending, you appreciate it; without knowing you embarked and became one with the creative journey told through the lens of the director. In other words, you leave the theater satisfied.

It’s one of the reasons I enjoy films more than books, that’s not saying I don’t enjoy reading. I just have always preferred watching a great film over anything really. You see, with a book, you’re always aware of the length. Sure, you can get lost in the story, but no matter where that story is taking your mind, once the remaining pages get thin, you know the end is coming. By that point, you either hate the book because of where it’s taking you, or you enjoy it because of how well balanced it is; then appreciating the end for what it is.

Well, my fear has always been being diagnosed with a terminal illness. The thought of being told that your life is being cut short really terrifies me. There’s nothing else that frightens me more than that. Now, I know death is a part of life and it can’t be avoided, but like I mentioned before, when you lose yourself in the story, you allow yourself to become the journey you set out to embark. I find that beautiful in a way. It’s like spending time with someone you love. You know you’re going to have to drive that special someone home when the day comes to an eventual end, but you enjoy the shit out of the moment; losing yourself completely in time until you look at your watch and realize a few hours have passed.

Once you’re given that kind of bad news, there’s no going back. I suppose you become aware of every little thing, losing yourself in the journey through life is no longer an option. You begin to not only countdown but rush through the experience. It must be horrible, and I honestly can’t fathom the idea. Nothing could be worst than being part of a beautiful moment in time and being pulled out of it by the thought of it all ending soon.

I’ve experienced that once to an extent, and that’s probably what added to this fear of mine. You see, when I was a lot younger, I had read an article about the world coming to an end after being hit with an upcoming asteroid. The article gave a specific time, which completely left me nerve-racked. I remember my entire summer being ruined by such an asinine thought. I would be running and playing outside but as soon as my mind was at peace, that fucking thought would quietly crawl into my thoughts and taint whatever peace I had with this bullshit-fear. It was ridiculous. I would spend countless hours wondering if there was anything left to do before it all came to an “end”.

Towards the end of the summer, my sister invited me on a trip to Arizona, at first I thought maybe this was what I needed but as the time came, I bailed simply because I figured the person I wanted to be with when it all came to an end was my mother. Well, eventually the time came for the world to “end”, and what’d you know? The article was full of shit. Since that moment in time, I vowed to never waste time whatsoever. And I hate it when people do it. Especially when it’s my time they waste.

So, going back (I know I drifted a bit from the point there. Sorry.), once that kind of news is given, there’s no ignoring it. No matter what you do from that moment on, that shit-thought will always find a way into your head. No moment will ever be silent or peaceful until the end, and I find that heart breaking, and truly terrifying.

However, in the end, it truly depends on the person. For me, it would be the worst thing possible but for someone else, who knows? It may just be like reading a book; even if you’re aware that end of the story is near, that someone might be okay with how their life played out. I just know I have much to do in this life, and that’s probably why such a thought terrifies me.

Be at peace with yourselves,


P.S. I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to post this. In a way, I was a bit uncomfortable, but I figured, “Fuck it. Why not? Someone might enjoy reading this.” To that someone: Thank you for taking the time to read the words my mind had to offer at this moment in time.



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