I’m deadly scared of death
I had originally planned this to be a YouTube video, but I cant stop thinking about it and to record something right now is just… no.
So, I’m scared.
I’m scared of anything and everything. I’m scared of having to do things daily, or having to get a job, of getting a job or going to a job and of all the people at this hypothetical job; I’m scared of the office being ugly and the people too. I’m scared of NOT having a job, of getting older and getting no job experience at all. I’m scared of waking up daily and doing nothing again. I’m scared of going for a haircut and this haircut being ugly. I’m scared of getting a haircut and then getting terrible news, whether I like the hair cut or not. I’m scared of job hunting. I’m scared of not having money and having no money AND of having money. I’ve never really had money of my own, but I picture that scenario at I get what? I get scared.
I’m scared of living and I’m scared of dying and I’m scared of continuing to live through an awfully difficult illness. I’m terribly scared of being ill.
And, as I said, this was a video in my head, as difficult as it is for me to say this, I am rightfully scared of it. I’ve never done a full deep dive into, well, me. I’ve always wanted to maintain this as surface level as possible because that’s just how I am in real life as well. But really thinking about it, how am I gonna reach further things if I don’t dig deeper down?
I was 16 years old when my father died of kidney failure following 2 years of torture following a stroke that first left him half brain dead. I’m not even kidding, half of his brain was gone.
For those that don’t know, a stroke is caused by a blood clot and the gravity of it depends on the size of it. And the one that caused my dad’s stroke was huge. This blood clot was so big it created its very own Pandora’s box of issues and traumas for everyone in my family.
I got the trauma of not having money and helplessness to getting money, and as expected, being a hypochondriac.
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Today (Tuesday) I went to the doctor after finally telling my mom my feet hurt this past Sunday. I remember my feet starting to hurt probably by late August. It’s March third. The thing is, I thought I was gonna get better and it wasn’t even that bad, until about two weeks or maybe a few more ago. Everyday I wake up feeling totally normal until it’s time to get up. I set my two feet down on the floor and get an ache on the balls of my feet.
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I was expecting some medicine for the fear and something to ease the pain, and I got them! And then I had to mention the other problem: the bruises I have been getting whenever I’m stressed for the past eight years, and the recent acquisition of getting swollen and achy. More specifically the tendons on my right hand and my right thumb as well, and as of yesterday, my face too, however my face doesn’t hurt (yay!) but I just noticed it being rounder that usual. The doctor asked for some lab work on blood and urine samples.
A hypochondriac is defined by someone who thinks they’re sick, despite having no symptoms or proof of being sick. I have symptoms and although I haven’t even been to the clinic for them to get my samples, my doctor asking for lab work is proof enough for me.
This week has just been an endless spiral of me thinking I should already be budgeting for my medicine -> and then thinking that if I don’t feel sick and feel completely normal, then why would I be sick? -> but this is not normal, there’s clearly something wrong with me. -> I’m literally not sick, the odds don’t even add up -> googling “mortality rate 24 years old”.
It’s one thing for my doctor to confirm there’s nothing wrong with my feet, maybe I just need to exercise more, and a whole other one to remember that the reason my dad started going to the doctor was because his feet were swollen.
I keep thinking I’m not going to die because I have so much to do and so many concerts to go to and then immediately after I get the thought of this being read at my funeral and my concert tickets being resold to get money for my treatment.
This feels exactly like the time I discovered a lump in my boob and I had to wait about a week to go to a gynecologist to get it checked out. I was a dead girl walking until the doctor told me the tumor was benign.
I just hope I can get my life back this time too when my doctor analyzes the results of the labs.
Just today he was asking me how I felt on a scale from one to ten about depression and stuff like that. The only one I could answer to with a big and confident zero was if I think about hurting myself.
I have never been suicidal or had self harm tendencies, and I’m proud about that. I love life. There has been times when I didn’t exactly love it but I haven’t thought about killing myself or doing anything to aid the process. I love life on Earth and in this time. It’s the most perfect thing in the world.
It would kill me to die.
I should not worry about those lab results because there’s nothing I can do about them right now. I have to run on hope and the belief that I will continue to be normal and that I will cry happy tears when my doctor tells me I’m completely okay and that I will go to bed with a smile on my face that night. I’m sure you’re thinking about how this fantasy needs nuance.
But you see, for me the glass is completely empty right now. It’s so empty, it’s never been full. The belief that I’m going to be okay is the size of a drop, and on its own it’s facing every single worry and fear I have.
I have to believe that this is going to pass because I’m going to be completely okay. I can’t be sick. Because I am not.
