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I have been thinking about being alone. Not loneliness, some of my most lonely times were when I was in a relationship. But actually, just being alone.

In a weird way it helps to think about other people being alone. Like, I know we are all alone, but we are alone together. I know none of this is particularly insightful.

But when I am falling asleep at night, I lie in bed, and I stare up at the ceiling. And I think about the thousands of times that I have laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to someone breathing and asleep next to me. And I realized that I was just as alone then as I am now.

No matter how happy or serious my relationship is, I’m always going to be lying in bed, awake, and alone with my thoughts. And sometimes, I like being alone with my thoughts. Some of them aren’t even things I can share anyway.

And that also got me thinking about dying. Lying in bed alone in the dark makes me think about dying fairly often. I’m not afraid of dying. Mortality is just an interesting subject to me. And I enjoy speculating.

What if you are still self aware after you die? But you have no ability to influence your surroundings. It would be like being a table. It would be like lying in bed, alone in the dark forever.

Which brings me back to the point I was originally wanted to make. Ultimately, we are all going to be alone in the end. Death is a journey we will all have to make alone.

I don’t mean this to sound scary or depressing. In fact, I think it is just the opposite. I like to imagine it as an adventure into the unknown. Not something to be afraid of. Even if there is no consciousness there, I’m fine with that.

Nothingness won’t hurt. Not existing didn’t bother me before I was born and it won’t bother me after I die. But we won’t know until we get there.

It’s one of the absolute last unexplored frontiers. We’re all like Lewis and Clark on an expedition to discover America. (I’m Lewis, the depressed one). We just don’t have a way to report back our findings the way they did. Death is more unknown that the deepest oceans of planet Earth and more mysterious than the universe.

I am fascinated by the idea of something so unknown and mysterious. And knowing that someday, I will 100% know what happens with absolute certainty when we die. I may not be able to report back to anyone else. But I will know for me. And while I am not in any rush to find out, I am very curious to know. Someday.


Lying to Myself

My brain doesn’t know when to stop lying to me. I’ve never been a good liar. And I guess my brain isn’t either.

When I get depressed, it starts out mild:

You are alone. And I think, well, that’s true.

You keep fucking everything up. And I think, maybe not everything. But it is hard to argue with that. I’ve made a lot of mistakes.

You’ll never find someone. And I think, well, I’m not sure if that’s true. But I’ve proven to be terrible at predicting my own future.

You’re ugly and awful and stupid. And I think, I may be unattractive (and awful). But despite having done my share of stupid things, I am not stupid.

You should kill yourself. And sometimes I think I should, and sometimes I think I shouldn’t.

You’re unhappy. And I think, I am unhappy right now in this moment. Maybe it’s because you are telling me awful things, brain.

You are always going to feel this way. And I think, now you’ve gone too far, brain. I have an excellent memory. And I KNOW I won’t always feel this way. Because I don’t always feel this way. You are a liar. And you can’t trust anything a liar says. You’ve probably been lying about everything. I don’t know why you do that, brain. But you’ve been caught. It’s time to stop now.

And it does for a little while. Until the next time. But luckily, my brain doesn’t know when to quit. It always takes things too far.


I know I thought I was done with it, but I have been thinking about suicide a lot lately. I have been feeling pretty depressed. I don’t know if it is the time of year, or the book I have been reading about suicide.

I just keep thinking about how awful my year was last year. And how alone I am. Not just alone for the holidays that have passed, but alone in general.

I’m single. And I’d be okay with being single if I had a family that was close, or reliable, or just not bad people. But I don’t have that.

And I’d be okay with being single and having an awful family, if I had really good, reliable friends. But I don’t have that either.

Most of my friends are good people. But they also have their own problems. And they don’t really have much time for me.

I keep wishing I could just throw my depression and feelings back into that locked room in my head. And I can. But that’s not what this past year has been about. All this stuff was so much easier to deal with when I wasn’t dealing with it.

I know this suicide stuff is just my brain malfunctioning again. I feel so detached from it sometimes now. The suicidal ideation comes and I know it isn’t me that wants that. And I think “Here are my thoughts of suicide, but I already know I want to be alive.”

And then I tell myself that my brain is lying to me again. And eventually I start feeling better. As intense as my suicidal ideation is sometimes, I also feel like it is happening somewhere far away.

Like my brain is sending me postcards from Europe. Usually they are happy and upbeat. Sometimes they are deep and philosophical. Other times they are amusing or interesting. And, a few, times a year, they are depressed and suicidal.

But those postcards don’t compel me to act in any way. I can just read them. Think about them. And then continue on with my life. Thinking of it that way is really helpful.

On Being Strong

I sometimes get tired of hearing people say how brave/strong I am. I know I am bad at taking compliments. But more than that; I don’t feel brave or strong.

I didn’t have any other choice. Believe me, I would have taken it if I did. I didn’t have the luxury of falling apart. I’ve wanted to. Many, many times in my life. But I couldn’t.

When people heard that I needed heart surgery they’d say: ‘You could die. You should go do everything you’ve ever wanted to do.’ Thanks for reminding me.

I would have loved to everything I’ve ever wanted to do. But I couldn’t quit my job because I needed the insurance so I could afford the heart surgeries. And I also needed money to do almost everything I ever wanted to do. Going to New Zealand might have proven difficult with $83 in the bank.

If lying down in the middle of the road would have helped; I can assure you, I would have. I was tempted to sometimes. But I didn’t. If refusing my prognosis would have prevented those surgeries, I would have refused it. But it wouldn’t have.

I had to keep going to work every day. And do my job. Knowing that surgery date was looming. Knowing that the 8 hour day I worked in a job I hated might be the last Monday I’d ever see. It might be my last August 3rd ever. But there was still work I had to do.

I think knowing it’s coming is one of the hardest things. Just having to sit and wait. Knowing that every moment takes me closer to that one that might be my last.

I mean, I know that every moment IS taking me closer to what will be my last. But I hope that last moment is many years away.

It was hard to plan for my own death. I had to make a living will and an advance directive. I had to decide what I wanted done with my body. I had to write goodbye letters to everyone I loved. And that was made even harder by my indifferent or dismissive partners, and the refusal of my family and friends to talk about it.

I WANTED to talk about me dying. I needed someone to talk to when there was a very real possibility of it happening to me. I know it’s hard for some people to talk about it. But I was about to have heart surgery. Nobody could let me talk about it? I had to keep all my fears and anxieties bottled up because nobody would give me an outlet.

And I wanted to know that everyone was emotionally prepared for me dying. I wanted to force them to realize that I might not wake up from surgery. That if they had something important to tell me, it was now or never. But they didn’t.

That was the hardest part. Having no outlet. Having nobody to talk to. Doing what I had to do wasn’t that difficult. I had no choice. But doing it alone was that difficult. Because I wasn’t alone. I was just made to face it all alone.