About death

Best retinols for thinking about dying

I don’t enjoy thinking about death. But if there’s ever a good time to ponder The Big Sleep, it has to be the month of January. Except this year, I kept thinking about death through February and now it’s March and I’m still thinking about it. I haven’t been writing because I’ve been busy and I’ve been depressed and I know these two facts are linked but I’m not exactly sure how. I believe it’s a “chicken vs egg” situation but I can’t be positive.

The beginning of the new year is supposed to be exciting! A symbol of new life, another year around the sun! But it’s been dark out, the leaves are still gone, and it hasn’t been the best time for me to be thinking about getting my hottest summer body or planning exotic vacations. Honestly, I’m too preoccupied thinking about death right now and (pun intended), it is killing me.

Until this year, the thought of my own death didn’t bother me much. I mean, why would it? I’m in my 20s. The thought of the people I love dying fills me with immense anxiety but until now, my own death has been none of my business. Why would I care? I’d be dead! But right now, I’m scared. I’m scared of dying. I’m scared of being sick. I’m scared of hurting — emotionally and physically. I’m scared to die but I’m also scared to live.

There are so many decisions to make while you’re alive.

That’s the thing that fucks me up — how should I make decisions about my life? Do I live like today could be my last or do I focus on what’s best for my future self? What is best for my future self? How could I possibly know?

Barring an untimely, tragic death, my life will most likely be a marathon, not a sprint. What does it mean for me today if I live to be 100? Do I go to the gym or to the club? In 60 years, which will I value most, my memories or my health? Do I travel or invest in my community? Do I choose what is convenient or what will cause friction? Does it depend on the day, the year? Does it matter what I choose? Do I have to choose at all?

Right now, a lot of things in life feel pointless. Obligatory. Everything I do to feel better just seems like a Band-Aid on a bullet hole. I’m so overwhelmed that even the fun things I should be looking forward to just fill me with dread. I feel like everyone wants something from me that I don’t have right now. Time. Everyone wants my time. When I have time to myself, it feels so scarce that I feel overwhelming pressure to spend it productively — at the gym, doing laundry, cleaning, getting groceries — that I just end up overwhelmed again.

I go to the gym to stay fit, I have a skincare routine to stay looking young, and I’m doing things to have an experience is all of it just a way to distract myself from the knowledge that one day I will die? Why do I keep doing my skincare if I know I’m going to die? Isn’t this stupid and futile and a waste of time? I know that one day I’ll have wrinkles regardless. I know that one day I’ll be a rotted corpse regardless. How many hours of my life will I have wasted spending time on my skincare routine? Or is the skincare routine a ritual that I need to keep in order to stay sane in an insane world? Because everything else in life is so uncertain, would I even be able to live without having my skincare routine, without the hope of youth, without the hope that this routine or something similar will keep me sane until I die?

I spend plenty of time on things that matter to me, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m sprinting through life. I’m afraid that one day I’ll wake up and realize I did many of the things I wanted to do but I didn’t appreciate much of it in the moment because I was too busy thinking about being on time to the next thing!

I’ve taken the Carpe Diem “seize the day” mentality so far trying to make the most of every moment that I just feel fucking tired. I don’t feel like I seized the day at all, I was too busy rushing through it.

Do more, do less. Get up off your ass but make sure to rest. There’s so much to do and so little time. It’s getting harder to hold two truths in one hand. I have a lot on my plate but that’s what I ordered. So now I must eat but I’m too full, it’s too much. I must rest but not rot before my body folds and crumbles into dust.

I don’t want to live like this. I’m trying to slow down. Walk slower, take more time, wake up earlier. Stop and really breathe. I have to believe that I have time. I have time, I have time, I have time

“100 books to read before you die” “Must-See movie of the year” “This product will CHANGE YOUR LIFE” I’m choking under the pressure of all I want to read, watch, DO in my life. I’m being suffocated by the demands placed upon my limited time and attention.

On a warm day this week I felt like I had time to actually breathe again. But the straw that is Minor Inconvenience seems to be lurking in the background, always threatening to break the camel’s back that is my mental health.

That’s the thing about being a girl with big feelings, minor inconveniences can solicit major reactions. Many of my most average days feel like I’m on a rollercoaster that won’t stop until I reach the comfort of sleep.

The way that I react to minor inconvenience gives me less confidence in my ability to deal with the truly hard things in life. The reactions I have to mild sickness, stress, or obligations makes me worry for big life events. Every time a new inconvenience arises, I freak out. I forget that I made it through the last one, that things ended up fine. By that logic, I should be able to remind myself that when big things happen, I’ll manage to be okay and keep going.

Even if I can handle big things in life, the deaths of everyone I love, I will still die myself. I guess we’re all just living for the next moment we feel okay and then we just die? Maybe death is the only true respite.

My therapist says my ability to feel things so deeply is a gift but it doesn’t often feel like that way. On one hand, it feel like every decision I make, no matter how small, could have life-altering consequences. On the other, it feels like everything is completely pointless because of my inevitable death. Am I doing enough of anything consistently to make a difference?

The urge to numb myself is strong but I couldn't have shallow feelings if I tried. And I have tried. Still, I have trouble being. I don’t have enough time to be. I want to be spontaneous and adventurous but more than that, I just want to sit. Read, write, talk, play. That’s really about it. 100 years couldn’t possibly be enough for me to get my fix.

As I try to breathe more deeply, the smell of spring fills my lungs, floods me with memories of years passed. Reminds me that winter will end. Life will go on. Where I like it, whether I’m dead or alive, life will go on.