Sunday, 14 June 2015

The intense sadness of mortality

Despite the knowledge that whatever may be going on inside my abdomen at this point is most likely going to be benign, it's hard to not imagine a far worse outcome. Reminiscent of those dreams I commonly have in which I know that my existence will end the next day, the situation I am in at this point adds the very real fear and realisation that I may not have long to live any more. Regardless of the reassurances from my rational mind, it's proving to be quite impossible to stop the emotional side from imagining that this body will soon cease to function due to some terminal disease.

Even though I'm hardly unfamiliar with mortality on a personal level, with having made multiple suicide attempts and the like, it's a somewhat unfamiliar fear to me to be confronted with my own mortality while the threat to my existence isn't self-made, but something beyond my control. This in the realisation that I do most definitely want to continue living, especially now that things are finally somewhat working out. It is mostly this latter realisation which makes me feel so incredibly sad.

It's the utter helplessness and frustration, but also the frightening realisation that this body you are so used to always being there, always just being... oneself, might just be gone. That face you see in the mirror... gone. Those hands... gone. And with it you. Your self. Everything that makes you into yourself.

It's an astoundingly paralysing sensation, to be honest. What's truly relevant beyond sheer survival at such a point? Everything else becomes a useless distraction.

I hope that I can soon move past this feeling. Hopefully starting tomorrow after talking with this doctor.


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