We all die one day, do we not?
Ever since the moment of creation, all that was, all that is and all that will be has been carved in stone, an inevitable progression of things according to natural laws. The worlds will drift apart, mountains will form and erode, water will fall from the sky just to return to it, and organic life shall putrefy, a morbid red carpet for the next generation. The thing is, whilst the future is certain, we are blind to the inevitable truths that await.
Will it be a boy or a girl? What will the traffic be like? When… Will I die? For us, all we can do is wait, only knowing when the information manifests itself before us, often in the moment of truth. Not so for you, is it Deathnote? You know more than anyone how the ‘unwritten’ future is anything but. You have had a glimpse beyond the final curtain, you have beheld the tapestry of fate… And even defaced it with your own design. You did not count on someone else doing the same.
There is a phrase I’ve heard… “Cursed with knowledge”. I guess “ignorance is bliss” is it’s better known sibling. Much like the rest of us, you want to stave off the embrace of your father, and who can blame you? Not I. Survival instinct is etched into us, in our genes, every minute building block of our body carries this will to live. I cannot imagine the rage you feel, the despair, the feeling of betrayal by a force you arrogantly believed could not betray you.
So, you do what many of us do. You are now the stage 4 cancer patient deciding to give up smoking, you are the man with the necrotic liver forsaking alcohol, the man putting a plaster on a wound already rampant with infection. You have realised that death is coming, and now every endeavour in your life has become about changing the path you are walking upon. There are no junctions. There is no secret detour. You are in a tunnel built of concrete, trying to gouge your way out with a twig.
I get it, I do. I’ve been living with Congenital Insensitivity To Pain from the moment I was conceived, and it has loomed over my head like the sword of Damocles. 20% of sufferers die before they reach the age of 3. Over half die before the age of 25. I know and have known that I am not long for this world. However, the one thing I have not let define my life is my death.
I could have hid away in a bubble. I could surround myself with mirrors, constantly searching for any scratch that broke skin, any bruise beneath the surface, harangued doctors with my hypochondria… Instead, I have lived, and I have lived a life well. Smoke that cigarette, drink that drink, fuck that plaster. Use your remaining time wisely, because a life running from death is a life running in place. Climb that mountain instead, child.