Death, Grief, and the Illusive Pursuit for Happiness
For fuck sakes where do I even begin?
Since my mom passed I’ve been existential, not in the fun, deep thought, “What is a good life” Sartrean way. More like the laborious “Oh fuck one day I won’t experience things” kind of way. I’ve been surrounded by death for the majority of my life. one of my earliest memories is attending a funeral. There are earlier memories… memories that I’m not sure are real or fabricated as I would be far too young to have them. Memories of my father screaming and shaking me. Hitting me across the face and tying me up only to lock me in a closet. I remember thinking, “Is this death?”
It was my Great Grandmother’s funeral that brought the concept of Death into the objective idea that we have today. Death means you are dead. You don’t breath. Your body decomposes. Your thoughts, who you were, all that you accomplished, gone. Never to come back. Never to be again. Years would drag by. Soon I would have friends. Awesome friends. Friends that never made me feel weird or strange for wanting to wear makeup or liking girly colors. Whatever the fuck a “girly” color is…
They didn’t make it past high school. Before our freshman year kicked off, one had passed away due to an alleged accidental overdose. Another, in less than a month, shot himself. The friend group split and frayed after that. The youngest of us later died while driving drunk. No one was hurt. It was just him. Fell asleep. Didn’t feel a thing. Well, thank God for that, they say. In 2014 the final friend finally succumbed to his addiction. I may talk about that later but right now I think I’ll just move on.
In my junior year a family friend, Charlie, also passed away form an alleged accidental overdose. He was way cooler than my actual uncle despite him maybe not being the best role model or influence. When I turned 18 I lost my Grandfather. In between then and now there were other accidents, other lives stolen, friends whisked away into some fairytale afterlife.
Grief was always there, but I had it reigned in. It wasn’t until my mother died due to complications with Colon Cancer that I finally gave up. I didn’t just cry for my mom on December 6th, 2021 at 4:43am. I cried for everyone. All at once, like a switch was flipped or like the dam finally burst open. And I don’t think it’s stopped…
Grief is a weird thing. We can grieve anything. The loss of a pet or person. The loss of self. The loss of an inanimate object that, in the grand scheme of things is worthless and meaningless, but to you, it is THE world. It can be over in a few days, months, years, hell you may never get over it. Maybe it’s complex and prolonged or short and simple. Grief is both a subjective and objective experience. The same with Death. We will all experience it, in our own way.
The reason I bring it up, is because I am having a hard time determining if I am grieving or just unhappy. I think about death a lot. I think about the ones I lost and the ones I will lose. I think about the ones who love me and what they will see, do, how they will react when I am on the bed, choking on my own fluids and wasting away in robes.
I find myself less and less interested in things everyday. I don’t like going to social gatherings, I don’t want to make friends and I’m not interested in the spotlight. At least not anymore. Is that grief? It doesn’t feel like it but it could be apart of the process. It could also be the constant negative self talk. The: “What’s the point, you probably have cancer right now and are dying.” kind of talk. So, I just smoke more weed, from a bong I haven’t cleaned in 2 years, hoping that today is the day I don’t wake back up.
But I do. Again. And Again. Am I living a “good life”?