Death Wish (Not Really)

I toy with the concept of death but I'm basically full of shit.

I'm not talking suicide here, calm down, Christ I got a lot to make up for. That tiny spot in my brain that still "hopes" (against all odds), prevents me from ending it all. That, and cowardice.

But sometimes, if I get a sudden sharp pain in my chest, I think "Well maybe this is it." I don't panic, I just sit there to see where this pain is going. Invariably it turns out to be gas. And my emotional response is a mix of relief and regret.

The regret is because I always take the easy way out. That is what got me into the pickle I am in right now. A fatal heart attack would be the easy way out. Bing, bang, boom - I don't have to fight anymore. And some people would say "He got cut down in his prime before he ever had a chance to make his mark." Others would say "Fucking lazy, underachieving prick got what he deserved - he never even tried."

The exciting thing about getting older is that there is no end to the sudden pains and discomforts that rear their ugly heads - things painful enough to make you think "what the fuck was that?" If you have a diseased brain like mine, therefore, there is no end to the morbid fantasies.

Had a knee replaced last July. Shortly before I went under the knife, at the pre-surgery check up - I was told I had a heart murmur. No one had ever told me that before. Freaked me out. Wouldn't it freak you out? Of course they told me it was mild and represented no threat. But I don't trust the medical profession - they would probably tell me that no matter what, so the surgeon could operate and get his numbers up.

I went into the surgery thinking I might never wake up. But I did.

Just had a colonoscopy this past Thursday. Haven't had one since 2012 so I was apprehensive. Age is the enemy. Dr. Feelgood was feeling positive after the surgery - said he didn't find anything too scary. But they did remove four polyps, which some lucky lab rat is examining even as we speak.

So there's still hope.

I don't really want to die. I got a lot to live for. My family, who I cherish. But the "a lot to live for" is all other directed. I am not happy when I'm alone with me. Isn't that the most important thing about life?

If you don't love yourself what is the fucking point?

Other complicating factors - I love parts of me. So it's not all poison. 

I try to recite certain things to myself as often as I can, mostly as memory exercises. (My brain is getting pretty squishy).

One exercise involves "affirmations". Affirmations sounds too new agey to me, so I consider them to be brain push ups. Anyway, one of them is "I love that I love what I love." And that is true.

I do love the things I love, and I am proud of them because they get to the core of me.

I'm a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction. I'll keep throwing punches until I can no longer lift my arms.

And I'll keep playing the Russian roulette of "Will this kill me or will I survive it?"

You gotta make your own fun.