The Obsession With Death

I have been obsessed with death as long as I can remember. When I was small, it was animals. It was mind blowing to me that something lying so still. so stiff, could have just moments ago been running free...

My mother called it a darkness... " You're got a darkness in you, that's for sure." she'd say...
 
As I got older, it was weird and random thoughts about dying - If I died right here, right now, would anyone figure out who I was? How would they know who to call?

Older still - a romance. Death ans I would flirt. I'd do outrageously reckless and impulsive things just for the thrill.

At some point, I even convinced myself I would die in a car accident. I've envisioned it, dreamt about it - nearly to the point it seems logical.

Once I discovered motorcycles it morphed into a different feeling. The feeling of power I possessed knowing that at any given time I could simply let go. At a speed of 90 mph on a bike there us nothing but the sensation of wind in your hair , rushing into your ears - the rest of the world is drowned out. The intoxicating feeling of knowing the ultimate freedom is just within your grasp, yet the power to not take hold of its' hand and escape.

Drugs, for me, was a subconscious game of hide and seek with death. Being doped out of my mind was as close as I could get to the euphoric numbness of snuggling deep into its' cold embrace - but without the commitment. That would actually be a damn good slogan for opiates - "death, without the commitment."

I don't want to die - but that doesn't make the feeling or experience any less fascinating to me.

What an unusual place to spend your life; drifting between the planes of a life I know I haven't lived as well as I could have - and sweet, euphoric nothingness. Total freedom.

I know i don't want to die. I knew it yesterday when I crossed the street. Before setting foot into the road, I looked to my right, then my left.

Looking both ways before you cross a street is not a survival instinct deeply ingrained in our DNA, it's a learned response. You have to be taught it. Consider a young child, recklessly darting through a parking lot, driven by excitement. Someone has to teach him. It's an act of self-preservation - a small, simple act that both goes unnoticed but yet screams out "I haven't given up yet!"

I looked both ways when I crossed the street yesterday.

Things are dark an uncertain in my life right now - I am unsure of my next move and at times, with all the loss around me like a cloak it's hard to even fathom moving - but nevertheless, I looked both ways.

I'm going to keep looking, too. I've got a lot of living to do yet.