On Death...

Oh man, shit just got heavy.  Death.  The end.  Finito.  I'd have to say that my number one anxiety at night is the though of my death.  I mean, it's not necessarily the "how I die" part that scares me. Although I do think drowning in a hot tub filled with lime Jello would be a scary, yet delicious way to die, it's not what keeps me up at night.

It's the belief that at one point in the future, my conscious self will cease to exist.  At one unknown point in the future, everything that I am, everything about me will just cease to exist.  It's not like I will really care after I'm dead, I'll be dead after all.  But for now, the unknowing of how that will be is just horrendous.  

Think about it, everything you have ever done, all those experiences you have had, all those feelings and emotions will amount to nothing - and unless you accomplish something major, you'll be forgotten in a couple generations anyways and it will be like you never existed in the first place.  About 108 billion people have existed since the beginning of our species, but how many have singularly had an impact on history?  Collectively, we have done a bang up job at fucking things on this planet up, I'll be the first to admit that.  However, singularly, I don't think there are that many (unless you believe in the Butterfly Effect, but then by that theory everyone deserves a trophy).

If you think this is just about not having a purpose in life, I do have a purpose.  I have a kid, and I know that I need to take care of her and raise her so that she can have the best life possible.  If you think I don't love life, I think you're missing the point.  I still fail to see what the objective is.  Why do I go to work and toil away my life, when I could be sitting at home or traveling, enjoying that time with my family?  Why did I give up all those years deployed? I missed out on a lot of time with my daughter and my wife - time and experiences I'll never get back.Someone once put on Facebook "Life is the dash between the dates on your gravestone".  I honestly abhor those Facebook clichés, but I guess this one hurts less than a kick in the face with a golf shoe (Thanks for the quote, Flea).  If the point is to just enjoy your life until you ultimately expire, I think I am doing a good job (except during depression waves), but knowing that I enjoy my life does nothing to quell the intense fear.  Writing about it has helped a little, but I still sit in my car sometimes and literally scream out loud when I think about it.  I wonder what the people in other cars think when they see me.  I bet they think "Oh geez, that guy must be late for work." or something like that, but they have no idea I am in the middle of an existential crisis in my car.  Ha. The joke is on them, they'll eventually be dead too.

Image credit: unknown. Maybe Owlturd?  If you're the owner of this comic, let me know so I can give you credit.


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