When I was four, I thought that humans were immortal. I believed that as long as someone avoided getting killed or sick, they could live forever. I got into an argument with one of my classmates in preschool over this, when our teacher confirmed that he was indeed right, and that when we got old enough, we'd just stop living, I burst into tears. I distinctly remember this moment, my classmates looking at me as I wept, as if I was an animal on display, and the kind old woman that was my teacher trying to console me, telling me it just meant to cherish the present, I remember choking out "I don't want to die" in between sobs.
In seventh grade, I was twelve. I pushed the thoughts of death to the back of my head, as most middle school children do. I was preoccupied with talking to my friends about movies and boys, watching the latest episode of Glee, and blogging online. The biggest problems I had in that time was struggling with my gender identity and trying to deny it in my head. But then my teacher decided to start reading this book to us, I forget the name, It was called the encyclopedia of death, the big book of death, or something like that. It contemplated the fact that we will all die, and went into different customs surrounding death from different cultures (I learned way too much about the mummification process that any twelve year old needed to.) After that, I realized death was a big part of a lot of books that were popular with my peers at the time. The hunger games killed off nearly half of the main cast, including the protagonist's younger sister, Divergent tackled suicide, when one of the side characters, threw himself off a ledge, and in The Fault in Our Stars, the male lead died of cancer. So the acknowledgment death crawled back into my life, as much as i didn't like it.
Around the time I started high school, I was diagnosed with depression, which I guess made sense, considering I was a troubled closeted teenager at a school where I knew nearly no one. Until I got help, I never wanted to do anything. I didn't think there was a point to it, since we do after all, all die. It even became hard for me to get out of bed. But even then, I was still terrified of death. At this point it wasn't the concept of it, it was what happened after. I've always said I believe in reincarnation, but since I'm cursed to be eternally paranoid, it was a big fat "What if?" No matter how many times I tried to assure one half of my mind that if there is a god, they would be a loving entity and not hate me for being who I am, but the other half kept saying that there's a chance that I'll burn in hell, that I was a freak, abnormal, and even an all loving god couldn't love me. It caused a lot of anxiety, so I had very bad grades, eating habits, and overall emotional states. At this point in my life, I was hyper aware of my mortality, and because of it, I was a walking embodiment of self destructive tendencies, and no matter how many times one of my friends who was straight/cis told me I wasn't going to go to hell for being who I am, I wanted to say "you're not the one whose existence is a sin."
I still am plagued with these thoughts occasionally, but I'm now aware that I am a human, and deserving of respect. I don't tolerate people stepping over me or my identity, and I know what I'm doing is right. I know that I'm going to die one day, and I haven't fully accepted it, or come to terms with the fact that I don't know what will happen. But I know that this is my life, and my body, and I will do what makes me happy.
In seventh grade, I was twelve. I pushed the thoughts of death to the back of my head, as most middle school children do. I was preoccupied with talking to my friends about movies and boys, watching the latest episode of Glee, and blogging online. The biggest problems I had in that time was struggling with my gender identity and trying to deny it in my head. But then my teacher decided to start reading this book to us, I forget the name, It was called the encyclopedia of death, the big book of death, or something like that. It contemplated the fact that we will all die, and went into different customs surrounding death from different cultures (I learned way too much about the mummification process that any twelve year old needed to.) After that, I realized death was a big part of a lot of books that were popular with my peers at the time. The hunger games killed off nearly half of the main cast, including the protagonist's younger sister, Divergent tackled suicide, when one of the side characters, threw himself off a ledge, and in The Fault in Our Stars, the male lead died of cancer. So the acknowledgment death crawled back into my life, as much as i didn't like it.
Around the time I started high school, I was diagnosed with depression, which I guess made sense, considering I was a troubled closeted teenager at a school where I knew nearly no one. Until I got help, I never wanted to do anything. I didn't think there was a point to it, since we do after all, all die. It even became hard for me to get out of bed. But even then, I was still terrified of death. At this point it wasn't the concept of it, it was what happened after. I've always said I believe in reincarnation, but since I'm cursed to be eternally paranoid, it was a big fat "What if?" No matter how many times I tried to assure one half of my mind that if there is a god, they would be a loving entity and not hate me for being who I am, but the other half kept saying that there's a chance that I'll burn in hell, that I was a freak, abnormal, and even an all loving god couldn't love me. It caused a lot of anxiety, so I had very bad grades, eating habits, and overall emotional states. At this point in my life, I was hyper aware of my mortality, and because of it, I was a walking embodiment of self destructive tendencies, and no matter how many times one of my friends who was straight/cis told me I wasn't going to go to hell for being who I am, I wanted to say "you're not the one whose existence is a sin."
I still am plagued with these thoughts occasionally, but I'm now aware that I am a human, and deserving of respect. I don't tolerate people stepping over me or my identity, and I know what I'm doing is right. I know that I'm going to die one day, and I haven't fully accepted it, or come to terms with the fact that I don't know what will happen. But I know that this is my life, and my body, and I will do what makes me happy.