Have you ever feared death, but wanted it at the same time?
At one point in my life, I didn’t exactly fear the idea of death. I was so depressed that the thought of dying wasn’t a big fear of mine at all. I constantly have the fear of someone I love, or am close to, dying suddenly. This thought for anyone is not pleasant. I get more anxiety over the thoughts of someone else dying rather than myself. Recently, I found out one of my old friends had gotten shot to death. The only thing I could feel coursing through my body was not that of sadness, but rather how getting shot to death would feel. I know, who would think this, right? The things I felt during this time seemed very unnatural. I imagined various scenarios of me dying, including that of getting shot. It made me want to experience what he felt. Granted, the result of the experience would be me lying in a coffin, six feet under the ground, or being the ashes in an urn placed courteously on a mantle.
While thinking about it, my heart was ferociously pounding. I could feel the weight of the bullet going through my head. Would it have been quick? Would it be slow and painful? Would I die on impact? I had so many questions with so many feelings. It scared me, but I wanted to know.
I don’t think I’ve ever feared death this much. Even at my lowest, I have never been this scared. My second year of college, I spent most of my nights sitting by train tracks, crying, and laying on the dirt. I saw two counselors, but neither helped, so I dropped out of college for the first time and went to live with my now ex-boyfriend. I thought I was okay during my break, so I went to another college within a few months. During my third year of college, I was so depressed to the point I would sit on the ledge of the top floor of our parking deck every night contemplating jumping. The only thing I could ever feel at these times was numb. I felt very alone, so I did not ever think that my death would cause much change. After all, my mother always told me (after she found out I was depressed), “if you die, life will go on.” There was not a care in the world given by her, so I figured that no one else really cared either. It also wasn’t until my third year of college when the counselor I was seeing confirmed that I had severe depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder. After one semester of my third year, I dropped out again due to my mental state.
It wasn’t until I started enjoying my freedom from many things that were harboring my life that I didn’t wake up thinking solely about death. Am I completely better? Of course not because I never sought the appropriate help and treatment. It only took one bad day to make me realize that I wasn’t better at all. I wanted to die all over again, but this time I was afraid to take action on it. The very few moments of “happiness” that I had seemed to overtake anything bad that happened. I enjoyed feeling happy and free, so I just wanted that back.
I have a lot of moments, now, when I want to die, but I’m scared to. I think about the various scenarios of how and fear takes over my body because I still want to have hope for a better and happier future. I only hope in writing this that I’m not alone.