I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately. A whole lot. Specifically my death.
Every bump, every bruise, every twinge, every pulled muscle is an early sign of my imminent demise.
With my new exercise routine, I’m using my core muscles a lot, core muscles which, prior to joining the climbing gym, were rarely used.
Pulling and tweaking and straining muscles in the core of my body is terrifying. I’m unfamiliar with the sensations and convinced that there’s something sinister going on with my cells.
These thoughts have been consuming me for weeks and it’s insanely frustrating and stressful and unhealthy. My death is the first thing I think of in the morning, the last at night, and my most common thought in-between.
I was at the doctor’s last week and everything checked out fine. But now I have a new thing, a new, odd sensation in my core, and I’m convinced that it’s something awful. Part of me wonders if I’m feeling this new thing in my body because I got confirmation that everything else is fine. That I NEED something awful to focus on.
I’m debating going back to the doctor. If I do, will she prescribe an x-ray or a psychiatrist?
My grandfather’s dying. Death is a person away from me, which, I suspect, is why I’m being so neurotic right now. I really, really don’t handle death well and I’m being impacted by his death more than I thought I would. I knew I’d be sad, but I didn’t know I’d fight tears any time I mentioned it.
And I’m going up to see him this weekend, which I’m dreading. What do you say? What do you do? How do you act? This is all new to me. I’ve never known anyone who was dying before. I’ve never had a this-could-be-our-last conversation with anyone. I’d rather not do it, I’d rather not have it, and I’d rather not go.
I want to stay home this weekend, away from death, away from where my biggest fear will be beneath my fingertips.