Loveless Life & the Fear of Death

My whole life, as long as I can remember, I’ve been afraid of dying. The fear seems to hit me in waves, but it’s always there, constantly reminding me of my mortality.

As we grow up, most of us reach a time when we start to think about life, death, universe and why we’re here. Some of us think about it while lying on our beds at night staring out into the darkness like I do at times, some share it with friends while there are others who just try to suppress these thoughts as soon as they surface. What almost every person seems to have in common with each other, though, is that we desperately try to find a reason for living, a meaning with our existence.

One person might find cause through a certain hobby or may be through God, while others find comfort in trying to understand as much as possible of the science we use to try to explain this phenomenon we refer to as ‘life’. But almost everyone seems to strive for an answer, a reason, a motivation to keep going. Keep going further with each passing day.

Why am I afraid, you might ask. I can’t even begin to fathom that my life will end, that my body will stop functioning and that all the thoughts, love and sorrows I bear with me will vanish one day. That I will cease to exist, and that I will be just gone.

I’ve heard that the older one gets, the more one comes to term with the fact that life isn’t endless. That we have been given a certain amount of time to live, and all we can do is try to make the best out of it.

You might look upon these thoughts as the ones of an unhappy man but to be frank, I am not really unhappy. I might not be the happiest person in this Universe but certainly I am not the saddest either. My life has turned out to be alright I believe. I have seen so many things, been to numerous places and have met so many interesting people in my life that I cannot even begin to describe in mere words.

In my line of work (photography), I have reached a level of decent success and respect, and I constantly want to become better at what I do. I also sincerely hope to constantly keep evolving into a better and less selfish human being.

But all that just makes the fear even worse to handle. To one day lose everything I’ve fought so hard for; to not be around to help and aid my family, in sorrow and in joy. At times, I can just neglect the various thoughts, and then at other times I desperately stare out into the vast emptiness hoping to find some way to be strong enough to withstand the psychological terror a fear of death brings to you.

Ever had a dream that felt more real than life itself? I’m sure you have, one time or another. Some of mine have been dreams of actually dying, waking up in the middle of the night, drenched with sweat and literally screaming my anxiety out into the room; my mind boggling and my body shaking with reluctance against the implication of death. I think I’m going mad, maybe I’m mentally disturbed because of a lot of factors, things that I coudn’t have controlled like my mother’s death a couple of years back. And this hurt, this pain isn’t something which I can describe; it is there. Constant. Thriving inside me inspite of all the good things that have been happening in my life.

Maybe we do have souls, perhaps they do live on forever; maybe we’re all incarnated from who knows how long back in time. There is the slightest chance that we might remember and carry with us who we are, and that’s the fraction of hope I cling on to.

But, I also know and fear that one fine day I might not wake up in the morning and die a quiet death. A death that nobody would come to know about. I want to live and hence make the best of whatever life I’ve left…

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