This Side of Paradise

TW: Thoughts of existentialism, life and death.

I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately. Probably more than what is considered “normal” or “healthy”. I should probably go and see someone, but the last time I went to the GP about my anxiety, I was referred to a group which was no help whatsoever. So here I am, thinking about death. Well, more specifically, the fact that I am alive, existing right now, at midnight on Monday 18th July 2016, writing this blog post topless with Hayley Kiyoko blasting through my headphones (don’t judge me, I don’t control the muse) and won’t be in 100 years. I’m not even kidding, when I’m on my deathbed I will probably be having a panic attack because I’ll be dying, and just because I’ll probably be the only one dying and all the attention will be on me. I’ll probably have a panic attack at my own funeral by the looks of it too. Anyway, my point is that I most likely won’t be alive in 100 years, so I’m pretty bummed out about that and refuse to accept the fact that I won’t see the future.

I try and occupy my mind with everything that I can do to stop thinking about this, because it is Not Fun. When I was 14 I was simultaneously petrified and fearless of death. I got over this by having a counsellor explain to me that if I live until I’m 80, I’m still at the very beginning of my life. And then last year my dumb brain came to the realisation that I could die tomorrow and everything would just carry on. That’s probably what terrifies me the most, that once I die everything will just carry on and I won’t be there to witness it. That will probably give me a panic attack in my grave. I’m scared about the idea that I just won’t be here, and I know I shouldn’t be because when I’m dead I’m dead I literally will not care. But that’s also scary.

I’ve been dealing with this by convincing myself that nothing is real. Yep. I learnt about solipsism in a philosophy class in school a few years ago – not the best thing to teach a teenager having an existential crisis. The only thing that I know to be real is my own thoughts, and for all I know everything else could just be made up by my subconscious. I choose to believe this because I don’t like the thought that there’s things that have happened in the world before I was born, and it also eases the fact that I won’t be alive to see other parts of history in the making. It kind of relaxes me to think that when I die everything will just stop. Because they will… for me at least. If I can’t exist, no one and nothing else can. Should I thank Descartes for putting all these thoughts in my head? Don’t worry, I know they’re kind of crazy and irrational… (Or are they?)

I haven’t blogged a lot recently. At the end of May I finished my first year of college which I will write about separately (spoiler alert: I got a distinction!!!!!) – it was a whirlwind of stress that I don’t care to repeat but I have to if I want to go to uni and study my crazy and way too self-aware thoughts in detail. Bring on the 3 year existential crisis. I am ready. I just haven’t been in the right head space to blog. I say that, but I’ve been doing a lot of fictional writing to project my thoughts into that instead, because I’m better at writing through someone than just writing about myself like this. This is weird, no one cares about me that much to read all of these blog entries. And if you do, why? No, seriously, why? I need some validation.

It’s now half past 1 in the morning so I should probably sleep. I woke up at 1pm yesterday for the first time in like a year so my sleeping pattern is pretty disorientated. Plus if I don’t sleep now I can guarantee that I will stay up for another 2 hours researching particular philosophical phrases on Wikipedia. Now I’ve just got to figure out what I’m going to categorise this post as.

Cogito ergo sum.

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