Monday, 05/26/03 - 2:49 pm.
When I was a little girl, I would avoid thinking of death. I was scared just to think about thinking of death. I thought thinking of death would be enough to bring it into your life and have it take someone you love away. But not me...since I was the one thinking about it. Someone dying would be my punishment for thinking of death.
Then I realized death is part of life. Or life is part of death, I'm not too sure about that just yet. But I liked understanding that. Death isn't that bad...evil, I mean. I have accepted it exists, and so all I constantly pray for is that, when somebody dies, doesn't die a painful death.
But now I've gotten to ridiculous heights. I think of death almost every second, it's like an obssession. And I'm afraid it'll come suddenly and will take someone I love away (because I've understood that death is ALWAYS around). And I kind of wish it'd come suddenly and took me away.
A couple of days ago I thought again of death coming if you thought too much about it. Yesterday I got a call from my uncle, saying my aunt got stung by a scorpion. Later on, through several phone calls, my mom found out her sister had gone into shock, had "half" a heart attack and almost died. My mom cried, not only because she was worried about her, but because she (we) found out about it a day later, and was upset that no one could tell her before.
My aunt is ok, now. She's at home, resting.
I didn't cry. I didn't worry a lot. I can't tell if it was because I was certain she'd be alright or....something else. I wasn't worried about my aunt, I was worried about my mom.
Maybe I tend to worry more about the ones who stay than about the one who leaves. Maybe it's because no one really close to me has died (yet). But to me it's always about the poor ones who stay and miss the one who left.
I couldn't kill myself, could I? Imagine how my mommy would cry. They would never understand. No one really understands. I don't know if I understood if a friend or relative came up and told me: "I'm commiting suicide" and actually did it. But I'd try to. I know suicide isn't pretty for anyone, even for the one commiting it, as there's gotta be a poweful reason that made him/her miserable and drove him/her to that decision. But I'd try to understand (but of course I'd try to help first. I keep my eyes open for anyone that might seem about to be pushed over the edge).
I once read a story about an angel. He arrived to this town and someone let him stay at his house, with his family. He had long wings, was dressed up in rags, and, most important, was poor, he had no powers. His pockets were empty, and all he'd do was take care of a bunch of roses he'd planted in the backyard. This family got into a lot of trouble with money, and the mister asked the angel to help him out. To make a miracle.
But since the angel was poor, he wasn't able to make miracles. The only thing he could do to help the family was to kill them all. The mister refused. But his 11-year-old son asked the angel to kill him. And the angel did, because the boy wanted to. And after that, the angel left town, dragging his wings.
Somewhere in that story, it was mentioned the "vocation for death". Sometimes I wonder if I have it, and that'd be why I'm always thinking about it and even more.
The sad (or happy) part is that I really have no reason to kill myself. Being blessed with a warm family and good education, among many other things...I'm not supposed to be thinking of death, am I? But I do it, anyway.
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