I’ve had what I consider to be exceptionally bad luck with death. So far, in the last eight years alone, I’ve lost my mother, sister, grandmother, uncle, three best friends and two friends. Whenever the phone rings and it’s a long-distance from home, I get stiff. I almost know the format by now “[Variable] has passed away,” or “I have grave news.” This resulted in me developing the habit of standing in front of the sleeping bodies of family members and friends in different occasions to check if they’re breathing. Also, I worked in the ER room of a hospital for two years, and I’ve had first-hand experience with scores of dead bodies throughout.
Of course I didn’t need any of the above in order to descend into a dark limbo of thoughts about my own mortality day and night; I was already on top of this process since I gained my sentience. Also, you must know that I am an atheist, and so I have absolutely no sources of comfort or insight into what’s going to happen after death. I am well convinced that it’ll be the same thing that was going on before birth (nothingness), but I still fear it. I am not in love with myself, and I don’t believe that my death is going to be any special occasion for many people, but this lurking certainty is hanging oppressively low in the sky day and night; its jaws clasping towards my flesh every time I find myself indulging in any Earthly happiness. Do you feel the same way?