I Don’t Want to be in a Box Beneath the Ground, Please

I have a perpetual fear of being killed in a plane crash. I think about flying weeks, months in advance. I know what the seat will feel like against my back, and I can almost recite American Airline’s safety lecture, down to the part about the buckle. I’ve been having sporadic pains in my heart, often when I’m at my desk at work, and I see the next few minutes in my head, when the pains will become severe and I’ll leap up and shout, but it will be too late for anyone to save me. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and don’t know where or who I am. I think this is a product of not understanding why I was born or what everything is around me, but it’s overwhelming nonetheless. Someone I once cared for very deeply, in the middle of a conversation where I was pointedly saying I wish I could meet someone who made me feel like you did, said, But I never felt like that about you. Last night I drank so much that I don’t remember much of what I said, but in the end it was probably all related to this, as is easy to do with friends. When I talk to people, I mostly watch their mouths, and some people’s mouths are very ugly while some people’s mouths are very nice to look at. Some people, when they see you watching their mouth, will bite their lip, or put up their hand to touch their face, which is nice. I drank coconut water for the first time today in an effort to take better care of my body and stop drinking so much Diet Coke. I really didn’t like it. It was disappointing.

I’ve seen a lot of people dying lately, none of whom I knew, but there are many people dying at any point in time, so I’m not sure why it should affect me so much when it’s someone who is a friend of a friend, and then often a friend who is not really a friend, but just someone they are connected with on Facebook. I think it’s related to age, that they’ve all been my age. I don’t remember where I was before I was born, as the saying goes, so why should I be afraid not to know where I am after I die? Dying just sounds so unpleasant, and there’s really no good time for it. When I start thinking this way, I have a fear that I will die soon, which makes me think about it more realistically, and what I’ve done with my life and how I’ve treated people in this short time I’ve been here, which almost always results in frustration. I really don’t want to die, and hope that I won’t know it’s happening when the time comes.

The point of this is not to complain about that inevitable day, but rather, to state in writing that when my day is here, I do not want to buried in a box. I do not want to be in the ground. I do not want a gravestone which no one will visit just a few decades after it’s placed. The cemetery is a lonely place, I don’t want to be there. I want to be cremated, my ashes thrown around some field or something in Kentucky, and I do not want my brain to be frozen for that inevitable day we begin reviving those forward-thinking enough to freeze their brains. Just let me go like I’m supposed to, when I’m supposed to, and let’s leave it at that.

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