Death

Passion can be defined in a few different ways. For example, The Cambridge Dictionary defines passion as: "a very powerful feeling, for example of sexual attraction, love, hate, anger, or other emotion." So when someone asks what I am passionate about, that can be a very loaded question. I could write you a whole list, or even a book to describe the details of these passions. Maybe I will write that book one day when I have the time. For now, I will make it short and sweet.

I am passionate about death. What a mystery it is. It is inevitable and could come at any moment. It is the only thing that truly scares me. This makes sense when you think about the root of fear, it is there to keep us alive after all. So when I think about what I am truly passionate about, it is death. Death brings out my most powerful feelings.

When I was young my passion was not healthy. I believed that I was not afraid. That I was fearless, nothing could hurt me, nothing could kill me. I was blind with invincible youth. The intense surge of emotions when you got close to death was exhilarating. It felt as though nothing else could make me feel that way. So I chased it, I teased it, I played with the idea of it, but when it got too real I stopped.

Eventually, I realized the games I was playing were wrong. This couldn't be how life was meant to be lived. Either on the brink of death or numb. It was exhausting and unfulfilling. Yet day-to-day life was monotonous and brain-numbing. How did anyone survive it?

I traveled, met new people, sought answers under rocks and on the top of mountains. The age-old question: "what is the meaning of life?", ringing in my ears wherever I went. I still have not found the answer, please let me know if you do.

But I learned some lessons along the way. I realized that those strong emotions found in my dark passion could be found in other places. That they did not have to be wild and intensely arousing to be felt. I was not numb, I was suppressing and ignoring any emotion that did not meet my standards. I had disassociated from my body and was living in my mind alone.

I know I am not the only person that has done this or who feels this way. Although I do wonder if it is a symptom of my generation. With social media constantly feeding us with outside stimulation. Scrolling through Facebook can be a rollercoaster ride of emotions if you let it be. You could be so happy for a friend that just got engaged, then scroll past a video of a dog being beaten or worse. But it is addicting. And eventually, like most addicts, you become numb and detached eventually. Having gone through this addiction at a young age, it was easy to become numb so quickly.

I recognize that the internet is not the only one to blame. Some guidance on how to recognize and feel emotions in a healthy way could have been helpful. But would I have listened anyway? And there is no point in placing the blame on any one person or thing.

They say that you cannot force someone into rehab, they have to agree and have to really want it. That you won't accept the help you don't think you need. It is so easy to isolate yourself. To think you are the only person that feels this way and that no one else will understand. It's not until you ask for help, till you verbalize what is going on in your head, that you find the people that can relate. Maybe it is true that no one will have the same experiences as you and no one will ever truly understand what is going through your mind. But there is comfort in knowing that there are people with similar stories. People that you can relate to, sympathize with.

When you are passionate about death, you may not live long enough to develop a healthy relationship with it. Or maybe you did live long enough but still couldn't figure it out. Which is understandable, it's a hard code to crack. And there are plenty of industries that love to make money off of your inabilities. Not to mention natural selection or survival of the fittest... I am only joking... mostly.

Life is a constant challenge. Whether you are competing in the Olympics or just trying to get out of bed in the morning. The struggle is unique to everyone. Life doesn't discriminate, it will chew you up and spit you back out no matter what your class, race, gender, etc. is. But death, death is picky. You could have gone through the most horrendous accident and still live to hear the doctors say "we didn't think you were going to make it." Yet there you are, staring up at the fluorescent lights wondering why this miracle hurts so bad.

In some religions, there is a belief that something magical happens when you die. That you could go to heaven, or hell, maybe be reincarnated? When you don't have a religion to clarify this for you, it is hard to know what to believe. Which can be scary or exciting, or both. Again, drawing curiosity and strong emotions towards the unknown but inevitable.

Now when I think about death, it does draw on my emotions. But in a healthy way. It reminds me how delicate I am, how fragile life is. When it runs through my mind I don't chase it. I acknowledge it and use it as a reminder to appreciate the life in front of me. For every moment death does not choose me, there is a beautiful piece of life in front of me. Many smaller passions. Sometimes less powerful emotions. But still, just as important.