I am a tortured soul...are ya with me?

The BBQ Pit
1

I know that none of you can offer me an answer, so I post this merely in hopes of finding that I am not completely alone in my torment.

You think I’m kidding, don’t you? Your’e waiting for the punchline, I know.

There isn’t any.

Here it is… you know how when you are doing something really incredibly great, like attending a fabulous party, spending a weekend with a new and thrilling love, on a fantastic vacation, you watch the clock? There’s some little part of you that is aware of the hours ticking away, and part of you is bummed out about it? “Oh shit, only 6 hours left!”

Well, that’s how I feel about * ** life itself ** . And have done so since I can remember, since at least the age of 10. And here’s the best part: it’s ** constant. ** Not minute by minute (although that is often the case) but definitely * every single fucking day of my life. I see other people going about their business, enjoying their lives, obviously not dwelling on the fact that they are going to die some day. Most of the people I talk to about this look at me in utter moritfication and rush to assure me that I am completely alone in this, that they virtually never think about their death, or if they do, they quickly retreat from such thoughts (Successfully.)

It is with me every moment. * ** It is torture. ** *

Now, the downside to this is obvious, and doesn’t need to be detailed, but there is in fact an upside. This constant, ever present hyper-awareness of my mortality has helped me to avoid being caught up in stupid bullshit most of my life, and to treat my relationships with care, cherishing those I love and always working to keep our relationships good and enriching. It actually does help me stop and smell the roses, all the time. I can’t be bothered with the stupid crap that takes up a great deal of emotional energy and time for many people, and I am jealous of my time. I do not waste it with people and things I do not value, and I never have. The saying “life is too short” has an acute * presence * for me that it doesn’t seem to have for most people.

But man… to be free of these thoughts. It’s like a chronic pain…the roaring of the clock of my life, tick TICK ** TICK ** - the older I get, the louder it is. I figure by the time I’m 60 I’ll be deaf from the sound.

So…any dopers share this particular form of personal hell with me?

stoid

PS: I’m dealing with it in therapy, and yes, I am QUITE clear on the fact that a fear of death is at the core a fear of not having lived. Extremely clear. TOO clear. But as I say, I’m doing the work to get through it, this post is just an inquiry into whether I’m unique. And of course, if anyone else did or does suffer similarly, and has found an answer, I’m all ears. Or we can simply commiserate.

2

Yep, I’m with you.

I don’t have a fear of death. I’ll welcome it when it gets to me. (Yes, seriously. No, I’m probably not going to kill myself.) At least once a day I’ll remind myself that I’m not going to be around forever. It usually happens when I’m cooking or watching TV or something. I’ll think to myself, Y’know… Someday, when this is all over, you won’t be able to do this anymore.

::shrugs::

3

I used to do that, but then I decided that it put me in an unhealthy state of mind and stopped. Now mostly I watch the clock because I am bored.

One of the reasons I stopped is because I never really look into the future that much. So it was more along the lines of “What if I died wednesday” or “What if I died in the next two seconds”.

4

I used to be like that, but then I decided I wasn’t going to die. I am pretty sure technology will give us a cure for death sometime within my lifetime, and if not I can always fall back on quantum immortality.

5

Yep. A day does not go by without me thinking about death. Every day that passes I curse myself for not having accomplished more so far. Every time I pet one of my cats I tell myself to try and enjoy the moment because in a few years the animal might no longer be with me.

I hate it. I end up not enjoying anything because I know it will end. I can’t enjoy the present because I am constantly thinking about the future. If I could take a pill that would stop me from ever thinking about death again I would.

6

Man, you need to let go and accept your mortality. Your sense of doom is caused by your unwillingness to do so.

7

When I turned 21 I went through what seemed to be (as you described it) the same thing.

And it was awful. Knowing that I was someday going to die poisoned my whole waking life.

See, I was always one of those kids who could pretty much accomplish or get around anything she wanted, and death was one thing I knew I could not avoid. Worse, I wasn’t entirely sure that my Church was right and that death would be a good experience.

I think I was buried in an acute depression when I came to this unpleasant conclusion, although I would not have known then what to call it.

This lasted several months. Believe it or not, it eventually went away on its own (!). I just had to reconcile myself to it, I guess, and get on with things. I grew up in a family steeped in elderly relatives, nursing homes and graveyards, and maybe I finally just reached critical mass or something with all of that stuff at that age. I really don’t know what brought it on. As far as getting over it, it was either that or exhaust myself with sadness.

Regarding your situation: I’m glad you’re talking to a therapist about this, because what a lot of people may say to assuage your pain just won’t help, because the damned clock in your head is too loud. At least therapists are trained to deal with stuff like this.

I hope you feel better eventually, and find some waking peace.

8

I don’t fear my own death, but since my husband got creamed by a truck on his motorcycle, I think a lot about his death. I don’t obsess, but I spend a lot of time thinking about it. I, too, avoid spending time with people who drain me and try to enjoy life to it’s fullest. My husband and I spend as much quality time together as possible and love each other deeply, but thoughts still cross my mind: “Someday he’ll be gone. I’ll be all alone. I’ll go from blissfully happy to devastated in a day.”

My own mortality I can deal with. I feel like I’ve reached a point in life where I am so content and fulfilled, if I got hit by a train today, it would really be OK. I would have died happier then most people ever are in their entire life.

Zette

(PS- non-professional opinion: Have you tried any anti-anxiety meds? The way you describe your thoughts sound an awful lot like an anxiety disorder)

9

Not me:

I plan on living forever. I even have several contingency plans:

  1. Medical Immortality. If I can keep myself in good shape for another 20-30 years and have enough money I may have a pretty good shot at living forever.

  2. Corpsicle. When I die freeze me in Nitrogen, wake me up when you can fix what’s wrong, and I’ll live forever in the future.

  3. Brain transplant.

  4. Record my psyche in a computer program

  5. Know that in some form I will go on forever in mychildren and their children and so on.
    Number 5 may sound like a bunch of hokum but consider that over the last few years every atom of your body has been replaced with other atoms.

Imagine a car. As different parts fail, they are replaced in the maintenance cycle. Now imagine that you reach a point where none of the parts of that car are original anymore. Is it the same car, or a different one?

Such is with your body. Such is with your memories and personality. They’re not you, they’re representations of the you that was.

You’ve already died many times and been replaced. The person you were 20 years ago is long an irretreivably dead. Now you are somebody else.

Think of the child you were. Did you ever wonder what you would be like as an adult? Did you wonder if you would still be you? Let’s face it. You’re not.

You can never step in the same river twice. The you of yesterday is dead and gone, while the you of tomorrow slouches roughly towards Bethlehem to be born (or something.)

The me of today is Here.

10

I submit that Scylla is proof of the non-existence of god.

FTR - Yep, me too, since I was a kid; I think about the time I said to myself “I’m alive” I realized “I’m gonna die” and it pops into my mind with fair regularity.

11

Damn, Scylla, that’s beautiful.

To answer the OP: I used to feel that way. But lately I’ve been taking some solace in the fact that I and everyone I know will die. I make mistakes, but once nobody remembers them, they won’t matter as much. In 300 years, nothing stupid I did will be remembered (unless I do something really dumb). The inevitability of death removes most of the pressure to succeed, because we know that we will fail to live someday.

12

It’s not the death thing that bothers me. It’s the loss of my looks. Every day I get more invisible because I’m losing my beauty (whatever of that there is). I don’t want to necessarily compete with young, beautiful teenagers with their perfect skin and figures, but I would like to be NOTICED by men. And the older I get the less I get noticed.

It’s pretty depressing.

Yes, yes, I have lots of qualities NOW that I didn’t have when I was young: like wisdom and humor. But I am really uncomfortable about the fact that I’m going to have to watch my body deteriorate more and more every year.

“Memories…all alone in the moonlight. I can smile at the old days. I was beautiful then.”

(They really need a smiley face that looks like it’s singing.)

13

I have a dog that I love dearly, but he’s seven and whenever I pet him I catch myself counting down the years until he dies.

I don’t do that with Wife or Kids because the odds are HEAVILY in their favor that they’ll outlive me. (knock on wood) Hell, I wouldn’t bet against the DOG!

Lisa, I don’t think you have much to worry about. Us older gents of quality can see the beauty inside you AND find a few wrinkles satisfying and, dare I say, cute. Ogling teenyboppers just gets pervy once you’re past a certain age.

14

I’ve already done everything I’ve wanted to do (or at least given it the old college try). I certainly want to outlive my mother—but other than that, you can fire up the crematorium, as far as I’m concerned.

My future consists of ever-declining health, looks and finances; lower-paying and less-satisfying jobs. There are another four or five books I’d like to write; but other than that, not a darned thing worth stickin’ around for.

—Pollyanna, the Glad Girl

15

I have felt like a tortured soul for many years. I lament the fact that I may spend my life alone and curse the shallowness of so many women. I then get, to a point, despondant when I realize that in many ways I am just as shallow.

That line from Time often runs through my mind, “Another day older and closer to death”.

Sometimes I wonder if I should turn to religion, but I usually have a beer and get over that.

16

I don’t worry about it that much. Either medical technology will advance such that I can live forever, or it won’t. If not, no biggie; after all, think about all those centuries before I was born! I wasn’t feeling any pain then.

And when you think about it, who am I? Five minutes after I was gone, nobody’d remember I ever existed.

The only thing that frightens me about my death is that it might not be quick and painless; that’s why I hope for physician-assisted suicide to be legalized.

17

Christ-aw-mighty, you folks are depressing! I thought I was morbid!

Eve, get a different job. The one you have is, by your own admission, dominated by people young enough to be your children. It’s a dead end and you’ll end up that dotty cat lady in the cubicle by the copier who nobody noticed died until you started stinking.

How can you use your skills, and you have many, to become comfortable enough? A while back you were considering teaching. That sounds like a good path. There is nothing that keeps you young quite like bossing around young people. And quit immersing yourself so deeply in the lives of dead people. It isn’t healthy.

Stoid, yeah, you are going to die. So what? Keep talking to your shrink and look into the meds–they have some good ones for obsessive thoughts. You can’t continue to torture yourself like this.

Scylla, you are so right about the constant turnover in our bodies. We are literally not the same people we used to be.

18

Stoid it really sounds to me like a variant of dysthymia, which does respond nicely to anti-depressants. Now, I am not a psychiatrist, but I do send lots of my patients to pshrinks. Just my two cents.

19

Yeah, but YOUR two cents is worth a lot more than mine in topics like this!

Okay, most topics. :wink:

20

Droppie, dear, appreciate the advice, but not so easily taken. If by “immersing myself in the lives of dead people” you mean writing biographies, THAT’S the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning! Well, that and my distressing need to earn a living. Who don’t rich people and royalty “sponsor” artists like they used to?

Get another job? At my age? Doing what? I’m too old to get another job in publishing, and the only other things I’m good at don’t pay a living wage. Museum work? Writing? Hah! Nope, the cold, hard, realistic facts of life are that it’s pretty much downhill from here, so I’d better get what little ephemeral joy there is to get in the ten years or so I’ve got left . . .

—Chuckles the Clown