Death Means Little to Me

Survival of the fittest; if that means surviving 7 car accidents with 4 of them being major, Cancer, and almost being killed by family members, then I must say I’m pretty fit. I’ll be 23 in September and I wouldn’t wish anything I’ve been through on anyone. You would think going through all that, I would appreciate life a little more, but I don’t. I appreciate life just the same.

I”m not worried about dying, when I’m going to die or how. I look at death of course as an inevitability and nothing more. I couldn’t care any less about what goes along with death. The concept of death doesn’t frighten me to the least. I’ve looked death square in the eye and didn’t feel anything. I survived and lived; I’m an Atheist so I don’t think ‘God‘ has me on this planet for a reason. I believe I’m here just to be here.

I guess death doesn’t mean anything to me because I figured that its going to happen anyway. You live your life the way you want, no one makes it out alive right? Right. My thing is this, I’ve seen people get upset when someone talks about death. I don’t see the point in getting upset over something that’s going to eventually happen. I find worrying unnecessarily a chore I refuse to do.

When a relative die I’ll be sad depending on how close I were to them. I don’t dwell on it. I’ve came to terms that people die and that’s a part of life. Fear of pain, suffering, and the unknown; reigns supreme over the thoughts of those with death anxiety. I honestly feel sorry for those individuals, I know they must go through it just briefly imagining what it would be like to die.

I’ve died a few if not more times in my dreams. I didn’t wake up in a cold sweat, I didn’t start screaming and crying frantically. I just said, “hmm, I guess it IS a myth, don’t die in reality if you die in your dreams”. And I’ve been shot, blown up and thrown off a cliff in my dreams. I thought it was foolish at first that the first thing I would think about when I woke up from my dreams is about some vague myth someone probably made it up with their friends during a sleepover while telling ghost stories in their basement with a flashlight.

I know someone is going to read this and have something irrelevant or retarded to say.

Being scared to die is basically being scared to live.