Flying through the air. Knowing I am destroying the planet en route. I live in a world full of paradox. No easy answers. Keeps me up at night. For as long as I can remember, I have struggled with being here. From what I was told, I was born dead (I don’t remember it : ) and the doctor and assistant in the tiny clinic had to work to revive me and bring me back.
Something about that set the tone for my whole life. Some say, it is because my soul/spirit had some deeper purpose for being here. For me, I call that version, “crap”; it was because I knew, even then, that I did not want to be alive. Not here. Not at this time. Either way, it is just a story. What happened was I DOA (Dead On Arrival) and the doctor played God and brought me back—because that is what they are “supposed” to do.
My life has mostly been a struggle tinged with moments of joy. I have felt pain and suffering deeply and intensely overwhelmingly since I was a child. Dead dog in the lap of a woman sitting in the street keening in Spanish, tears drenching her face and shirt, both covered in blood from her animal friend who had been hit. Child being slapped across the face in the grocery store because she was talking too loudly. Being told I was loved while being beaten, forcibly restrained, and having soap shoved into my mouth because I dared to have an opinion and speak it. Baby bird I tried to save and failed while it died of malnutrition despite my best intentions. I could fill pages with grief. But what’s the point? And this is the constant question of my life, “What’s the point?”
Anyone who has read my blogs, knows that this is a re-occurring theme for me. I do not write about it to get others reflections. It never works anyway. Nothing anyone ever says gives me answer to the unanswerable question of my life, “What’s the point?” I have tried to commit suicide—when I was too young to succeed even with the most valiant of efforts. I walk around frequently having visions of slitting my wrists and wading out into the warm sea that I love so much so I can become food for Mama Ocean. And now, the irony is, the only reason I don’t kill myself is because I feel too damn responsible and obligated for this whole world I seem to have created around me. I, mean, how freakin’ terrible would it be if the woman (that would be me) who constantly says, “Every time you take a breath… a miracle just happened. Now start living like it. Start living a life worth the miracle and magic of every breath.” All of a sudden offed herself?!? I mean, of course, there’s a heck of a lot of people who would actually be quite thrilled. Some might even read this and start yelling, “Yes! Do it! Go For It!” And of course, there are also a whole slew of people who wouldn’t give a damn one way or the other. But it’s all the other people whom I can’t seem to shake as the ghosts of my dead future. So, I continue to live for them. Which is so pathetic and ironic.
Recently, I had an experience where my heart broke yet again, feeling like it was shattering into shards like knives that kept cutting me more and more. Because I do my best to live my life as car free as possible, I had to rent a car for this particular trip, and as I drove back to the place I had been staying, I started praying and begging and pleading with the Universe to have someone lose control of their vehicle and smash head-first into me, killing me not them of course. And when that wasn’t working I figured it was because it’s not fair to wish crisis and tragedy on someone else, so then I started praying and asking that something uncontrollable happen to the car I was driving, so I would wreck and die, but it not be on purpose, so I wouldn’t have to answer to the voices in my head about being one big tragic, let-down. I then deactivated my Facebook accounts because at least that way I could experience a virtual death, which is the closest thing I have right now.
Pretty pathetic, huh? I get so damn tired of this rewind, play of my mind and life. There is no answer to this question that haunts me and tears and claws at me throughout almost every day. For me, life in and of itself is not worth sticking around for. My parents had sex, my mom got knocked up, and out I came. Not some deep religious, philosophical, or transcendental purpose. It’s called Biology.
I came up with this idea, that for me, Love is what makes life worth living for. So I struggle to keep coming up with something to love to keep me here. And every time my heart breaks (which is an almost constant in my life) all I can think about is wanting to die. So I die a thousand deaths to my wish since the day I was born—the wish to die.
It really is quite pathetic.
Death is the easy part. Staying here is by far the greatest challenge of my life.
For now, I head to the Caribbean, one of the places I go to where, when I am next to the sea, the unanswerable question seems to quiet for a while.
One thing I know is that it is ultimately my life and no one else’s and if some day I decide I have had enough, I will post a goodbye note, and then I will go. It is my life. It is my right—to live and to die by my motto—“To thine own self be true.” Even when I struggle with knowing what is true for me.
Here’s to all the people who struggle with being radically true and to wondering, “What’s the point?”
Love (because that is what keeps me here),