The end of the world

Ever since I was old enough to realize what death entailed, I've feared it. I clearly remember lying in bed when I was 12-13 years old and thinking of what it would be like to not exist. I never really stopped thinking about it. I can't really wrap my head around non-existence, that I will one day cease living. At the same time, I am painfully aware of that one day, I will. In fact, I can't stop thinking about it.

Sometimes, I lie in bed and chant to myself 'I don't want to die, I don't want to die', as if I need to specifiy that I want to live. Other days, I lie in bed, and I look from my left wrist to the rack of knives on the kitchen counter, and I think 'what if'. I know I'm not really going to slit my wrists, because the only thing I'm more scared of than having to live my life, is to not get to live it. But I look at the knives, and I think. I think of simpler times, when there was no responsibility, when my life had a direction, when there weren't so many big questions that needed answers. I know that life is never going to be like that again, and it makes me so unbearably sad. Because my life right now? So far away from my sweet carefree childhood that I wonder how I ever got from there to here.

My childhood was idyllic. I was raised in a rural area, where there was no need to lock your doors, because nothing would happen. My parents weren't afraid to let me go off exploring. My neighbors all knew my name. I was friends with every single person in my class at school.

But it's all slipping away. Like a metaphor for my own existence, the world is catching up with the paradise of my childhood. People I grew up with have died of drug overdoses. People I went to school with have died in traffic accidents. My childhood friends have suffered through life-changing decisions, and debilitating illnesses. We have to lock our front door if we're going out now. Children can't leave their bikes unlocked outside of the elementary school anymore. There's so much violence, where I thought there would never be any.

It's all slipping away from me.

And me? I'm slipping with it. I'm in such a bad place right now. I've been thinking about seeing a therapist for months. I've even got the phone number saved on my phone. It's been there for months, but I haven't made the call. There's always an excuse not to. From a purely logical point of view, I know that these things I'm feeling, they're symptoms of depression.

But what I'm feeling isn't logical. I'm scared to discover that this bad place I'm in isn't really a bad place, it's just me, screwing up my life. That I'm stupid and lazy, and I was silly to ever think that I could be something. Most days, I can't even get out of bed, let alone do anything.

I just want it to stop.