I thought about people who committed
suicide. If only they waited, they might have woken up the next morning feeling
so much better. I never saw how far down in the pits I was until I looked back
on myself from a distance. It took months to realize I was fighting a disease
that occupied my mind as well as my body. But first I had to believe my life
was worth battling for.
But in the end it doesn’t matter how hard we
fight. When it’s our time, it’s our time. Since I discovered the
secret to the universe, that the BIG GIANT FOOT determines our fate, I am
calmer about my approaching demise. I will face it with grace and aplomb.
Of
course that’s bullshit. I am already panicking. Being
incurably ill is like going on a voyage to another world. You don’t know what
you’re going to encounter so you can never really be prepared. You have no idea
what to pack. You can only wear clean underwear every day and hope for the
best. The unknown is a scary thing. But it has never made me think religion is
the answer. Instead of a bible I want a Lonely Planet Guide to the Other Side.
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