02/08/2013

“The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I ever have.”

It’s so fucking cliché, it’s in a song.  Doesn’t make it any less true, though.

I dream of dying sometimes.  Not as much as I’d like.  But sometimes.  And I am never afraid, when it comes down to it.  I am never afraid of death.  I am always resigned.  Accepting.

If it ever really came down to it (and it will, someday, because we all die sometime) I don’t think I’d put up much of a fight for my own life.  I see nothing worth fighting to save.  There’s a lot I haven’t done, a lot I haven’t been.  But I need to accept at this point that I’m never going to change.  I’m never going to do those things, I am never going to be a different person.  So really, dying wouldn’t be all that bad.

I think about Hell sometimes.  I’m not big on the whole religion thing.  The God thing.  Mostly, I don’t believe.  Sometimes, I do.  Not often.

But Hell.  I think about Hell a lot.  Sometimes I wonder if I’ve died and gone to hell, that this ‘life’ is really an afterlife, and instead of physical torture I have been damned to emptiness, to lack of feeling, to solitude, to helplessness and rage and, above all, slow decay.

That, to me, is more of a hell than torture racks, than blades and broken bones.  Because those things…I mean, if that was it.  If that was eternity.  It’d be kind of comforting.  Just pain.  Existing purely in agony.  No one expecting more of you than guttural screams.  Just that, for all eternity.  It’d be honest.  I could accept that, I think.  Knowing it would never stop, but knowing that was it.  That was as bad as it was going to get.

I don’t think I’m explaining it well.

But I’m coming to accept the idea of damnation.  To think that, even if I die and go to hell, it wouldn’t be so bad. 

I mean, I don’t really deserve heaven.  I’m not going to kid myself.  Even if I knew for sure there was a God, and that all I had to do was ask for forgiveness to be saved…I don’t think I would.  Heaven should be for good people, right?  People who deserve it.  People who’ve done shit to deserve it.  Not people like me, who should know better and don’t.  Not people like me, who desecrated the bodies they were given, who hated every minute of their miserable lives and were too fucking pathetic to fix it.  Someone that pathetic, that useless, has no business in heaven.

Life’s mostly a waste, I think.  At least, mine has been.  And I wouldn’t be sad to see it end.  I wouldn’t be sad.  I wouldn’t mind.  I would welcome death with open arms.