It’s a very surreal feeling to know that your life is ending. And I mean this in two ways: Recently, the idea that the moment you’re born is the moment you start dying has been on my mind and I don’t know why that is. It could be the fact that a couple weeks ago I walked away from a totaled car that I should have died in (and I trust that I’m still alive because God saved me that night). But that’s another story.
I guess this blog post is somewhat of a letter because I honestly don’t think that I can just talk to anybody about this. There are people that I would talk to, but they’re either recently out of my life or are going through their own problems.
I don’t know.
I make my own calendars. It helps me think, I guess. There is just a satisfying feeling about drawing in the lines and writing down the numbers and month names that makes all of the time passing feel familiar to me; it makes me accepts that I am the oldest I’ve ever been and the youngest I ever will be again at every moment of my life.
Three days ago marks the two month mark until I move into my college dorm. Two months until my life ends. And I’m not talking about my actual life, at least I hope it doesn’t end; I’m talking about my entire life up until now. I don’t think that I really consider birth through three years life. It’s alive, that’s for sure, but to me life and alive don’t connote in the same way. When you’re four though, or whenever you start preschool, memories start to form and the training begins. What training? The training that sets you up for the next thirteen years. Preschool prepares toddlers for elementary school, which prepares kids for middle school, which prepares preteens for high school. But high school doesn’t really do much to prepare teenagers for college. Schedules aren’t the same, the way the classrooms are run, all of the things are different.
I guess that that is what I’m most scared about. The differences. I don’t think that I’m prepared and I would much rather be prepared.
And that’s what I mean about my life ending. My life that I’ve been preparing for and living since I was four years old is over. The schedule isn’t the same, neither is the curriculum.
When I looked at my calendar and when I wrote “MOVE IN!” in all capitals with an explanation point, it felt like I was signing away my soul.
As much as I think that I’m ready for this new door to open up, I know that I’m still standing just out of reach of the doorknob. I can’t decide if that distance, the distance between me and the doorknob, is because of terror or anticipation, possible both.
How can I be so ready, yet so ill-prepared, to end my life? Yes, it’ll be the start to a new one… But, am I ready to meet the new me?