A Slow Decent Into Madness

It's 2AM and all I have to do is wait. Death comes for all of us. The problem is death doesn't announce itself or waits to be invited, it just comes whenever it chooses and then it’s over. Death doesn’t care if your ready, or if you want it to come. Most people are surprised when death comes, like they hoped death would visit them at another time or another hour. The irony that the only certainty of life is death is the only thing that makes me laugh now.

My apartment is bare. A simple cot on the floor and a laptop as the only connection I have to the outside world. Water and uncrustables and cleaning supplies delivered to my apartment every Friday. Strawberry and Peanut Butter uncrustables with the white bread are the only thing that I can stand eating with their bland sweet saltiness. I begin the day with breakfast at 6AM. I take a shower and wash my pajamas. I hang them to dry on my shower rod. I change into a t-shirt and leggings. I start work at 8AM. Have lunch at 1PM. I end work at 4:30PM. I eat dinner at 5:30PM. I take a shower. I clean my bathroom. I wash my clothing in the bathroom sink and hang them to dry. I put on my still damp pajamas. Then sit in the silence until I pass out from exhaustion or boredom. Start the cycle over again the next day. The entirety of my life is a mere carbon copy of the previous day. The only thing to look forward to is the comfort of sameness, the intense silence, the unchanging aloneness.

I realize I haven't spoken a single word since my Grandmother died three years ago today. I croak out "hello" to the empty room, my voice sounds unfamiliar and strange to my ears. My Grandmother’s heart locket hangs from my throat. The last vestige of a different life. A dull ache, a never-ending emptiness has seemed to settle in my chest. I miss the poignancy of fresh grief, at least the feeling is sharp and overwhelming, a feeling you can get lost in. At least people care, or at least pretend to when the grief is fresh. After a few months, everyone moves on, goes about their business and you’re left behind. You’re on your own to move on, to wallow and sink into despair, to give up. The locket was the only thing I had to remember her by. The only sentiment I allowed myself. A reminder of what all was lost, all that had changed.

What’s the point of living if all we do is die? The only thing that is certain is nothing matters since there is nothing that can come with us in death. What belief can be certain enough to successfully fight against the certainty of death, to make life meaningful again? Does the answer even matter? Does the answer elude me since I don’t matter?

I sit and laugh while I wait for sleep or death. Even suicide is meaningless, the desire for death does not hasten its arrival. I don’t get suicide, why put effort into a pursuit which will happen anyway? I wonder if death finds suicides amusing since they seem to be the only people who actively search for death and want to meet it. Is death a mere biological reality or does death care about who we were, what we did, who we loved?

My only hope now is that when death comes, it will be kind and take me peacefully.