Man, since I've been doing this, I encounter so many things during the course of the day that I feel I want to write down for you. (You being me.) (But actually, that's another issue entirely: are you really me? I mean, I'm assuming you are the person w/ the same SS #, same birthday, same name, same wife, same DNA, etc., as me... But is it really fair to say that we're the same person? This is something I [or was it someone else?] grappled with a litttle in college when I first started leaving notes for myself around. In a lot of ways, we're really not the same person. And again -- this is what has been troubling me for all these years. I want to be myself. But I'm just not sure who that is.) This time I just started typing because I'd thought of so many things I wanted to say; I figure I'll decide as I type which one to focus on now.
Well, yesterday I had a weird experience. Now, what I'm about to write about is the sort of thing that makes me want this blog to stay as anonymous as possible. I know that I've put enough details in here that anyone who really knows about my life will be able to figure out who I am (although there's really only about three people -- W, and our two best friends -- who fall into that category). So the anonymity thing may be a lost cause. But I'll say this: I'm going to talk here about some dark thoughts that I had. But, on the off chance that someone I know is looking at this, I want you to know that these are just thoughts. I know I'd never do the shit I'm thinking about. And I'm confident -- although people don't talk about it much -- that 90% of the rest of the world has thoughts like this, and often.
Anyway. So I was depressed, and so was W. The two of us, and our dog, were sort of snuggling on our couch-bed, just lying there like sacks, feeling sorry for ourselves. And I started drifting off. It's when I'm in that state between asleep and awake that I have a lot of interesting thoughts. Anyway, I had this thought: what if the two of us, me and W, had made a suicide pact, and we were just lying there waiting to die? Part of the story I made up in my mind was that we'd poisoned D too (that's the dog), since there'd be no one to take care of her after we were gone. And I just sort of saw the three of us floating up into the sky. And it felt like, man, that would be nice. To be just the three of us, with nothing to worry about, for the rest of eternity. Just snuggling.
Then, of course, I started to worry that we wouldn't all end up together. I sort of saw D floating off in a different direction. I think this was because W and I had made a decision to die, we had had an opportunity to think about it and deliberately chose it; but D hadn't had that opportunity. We'd killed her. It wasn't fair. So she was being taken somewhere else -- maybe she was going to heaven and we were going to hell? I don't know. But I got very upset by this. It was like, yes, it would be wonderful to be just the three of us forever; but if it's not going to be the three of us, it's very sad.
I suppose that's part of the thing about death, that we just don't know what to expect. I've always believed pretty strongly that, well, it's just the end -- you don't feel or experience anything at all after you're dead. But as I get older, I have to face the fact that I actually don't know. And if it involves some sort of experience, and that experience doesn't involve W and D, well, I don't want that!
Man is this a stupid post. I guess that's what I get. But it is probably worth noting for the future that I felt this way once. But let me add: at the time this was written, I was a lot smarter than this sounds. I swear. This is not representative.
Ah. Shit. This sucks.