Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Dismantling My Own Mortality

I had a pretty good session with my head doc this morning. So much so, that I could have easily talked most of her day away. Unfortunately for me, she doesn't have enough time in her schedule, and even if she did, I am quite certain my insurance wouldn't cover the cost. Not to mention that she's my doc, not my head shrinker. (I've not done a great deal of searching for a head shrinker because my experience has been that they're either flaky, or just when we're getting into the thick of things, they quit the office, thus leaving me hanging out to dry as I search for another equally frustrating head shrinker.) But I digress.
As I said, I could have spent the entire day with my doc, but unfortunately I was finished before I really began to expose some things, so for the sake of my own clarity, I'm going to finish what I have to say in this medium.
(Note to some: You may find what you are about o read difficult. If so, please pass on this entry.)
Here goes... (((deep breath... exhale.)))
Death, for me, is an interesting topic. Not only when dealing with my own mortality, but when discussing the dismantled lives of others who have either crossed over, are nearing crossing over, or have come within seconds or centimeters of crossing over. I often wonder what it must be like, to come so close to the end and yet be so far away from everything you have come to know. I also wonder what, if anything, in those few fleeting moments of indecision, crosses the mind before one chooses their fate: To live or die?
It's much easier to say that everyone has an honest curiosity about death: i.e.; Is it painful? Is there life after death? Is there a heaven or a hell? If so, what do either look like? Do we see our loved ones when we cross over? Do we come back as someone else in another life? But that's not the case for me. While I have my own opinions about death and the dying process, my curiosity is based more in the realm of wanting to die. I want to know when I will die. How I will die. Where I will die. For example: When I was at the gas station the other day, I thought about those unfortunate victims of the D.C. Sniper shootings, and wondered if that could happen to me as I'm pumping gas. As I'm driving, I think about being the victim of a fatal car crash. And I think about a by-marriage family member once and for all going off the deep end, and in a jealous rage, taking my life, among other equally frightening things. These are not situations I wish to be in, but I do think about them. I also think about dying of natural causes. This is so frequent that there has been a nawing in my ear to have a full check-up done. As a result, I want to have all of my effects in order in the event something happens. I think about writing the one pivotal book that, above all others, will serve as my life's masterpiece: I want write a book to my children explaining who I am, where I've come from, and how I've ended up where I am.
I liken my thoughts of dying to that of someone who is feeling homesick and then one day decides to go home. When I put it into that perspective, it seems rational to me. It soothes my heart and I begin to feel better.
I can imagine how off I must sound to you, but I assure you that I am not off by any measure. Through this post I am simply being honest with myself, holding nothing back with the hope that I can free this overwhelming burden of mine and move forward.
I am not harboring the methodology of my own demise. I know if I earnestly wanted to take the necessary steps, while everyone is in school, I could do so with a snap of the finger. It's that easy, that close, should I have a calling, but I don't - at least I don't think I do. I care far too much about my family to do something as selfish as commit suicide, but as anyone with Bipolar knows, there are times... my God there are times, when everything goes wrong and it takes all of the strength I can muster to remember that my wife and kids are what I live for.
In some obscure way, I can't help thinking that my impending death is to be expected, that one day I will be found, that I will have made furious everyone who has ever mattered to me, because in their minds I wasn't strong enough to fight for myself. The thought of doing so frightens me because I don't like dissapointing people. I'd much rather prefer they be happy with me and my efforts, much like a dog who fetches a ball or pisses outside for the first time. I would prefer that they pat my head and say "Good boy!" than rub my nose in my own urine or feces in a distorted effort to teach me a lesson. But that's how I'd been brought up: To do good, to be a good boy, or suffer the consequences.
This isn't about my upbringing though. Well... I guess in some ways it is. But I prefer to not point fingers at the many mistakes that were made during my childhood.
That said...
I'm going to close down for now. There is so much more I need to say, but to be honest, I need to take a break and collect myself before moving on to my book.
Thank you for listening to me... whoever you are... wherever you are.

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