Do people really feel more comfortable not knowing the time of their death versus knowing the time of their death?
I’ve had people say to me that the would rather not know when they are going to die.
For me, it’s different.
Everyone dies.
For me, knowing the approximate time of my death is nice as I can start making plans to wind down my life. There’s a lot of issues to be taken care of before one’s death.
For me I get to plan out my final months, my final weeks, my final days, and my final hours.
I get to be put to sleep where and when I want to.
I get to have my corpse disposed of as I wish.
I can even invite whomever I wish to my death.
Prior to deciding to apply for Medical Assistance in Dying I was always terrified of actually living to my 70s or 80s.
Not knowing when I would be able to die is what panicked me the most. How long would my fucked up brain keep replaying this shit. How long would my fucked up brain keep sabotaging shit. Everything that I try to do my depression fucks with.
Now, knowing that I have the possibility of dying when I’d like to die, which is sooner than later, I have found myself in somewhat of a calm and serene mood.
As I have said before it’s no fun suffering from major depression and severe anxiety. Especially not when your own father would tell anyone who would listen that it was all just an act for attention.
It’s no fun having the events of CFB Namao playing over and over in my head. It’s no fun having the memories of Terry and my father playing over and over.
Always being stuck in a state of wondering how different things would have been if matters had been looked after properly on Canadian Forces Base Namao. Or how different things would have been if Andy hadn’t been drinking that evening. Or how different things would have been if Angus McRae had been thrown out of the military the first time he molested kids on base.
The memories of of the abuse are burnt into my brain.
They’re not going anywhere.
It’s not my job to “try harder” to forget about them.
And pretending the events on CFB Namao didn’t occur is just as bad as remembering them as forgetting the events will leave empty holes that will just bring the memories right back.
Society in general doesn’t seem to have a problem with death.
Society, espeically the religious, seems to be very intolerant of a person chosing to die.
Simply look at the number of deaths from vehicle collisions each and every year.
Society is willing to accept the deaths from Car Culture as just a small price to pay for driver convenience.
Limiting horsepower, mandating GPS based speed limiters, banning vehicles from municipal streets that don’t have pedestrian friendly crumple zones are all proven methods to reducing the CARnage on our public streets.
But society won’t take those simple steps as that would hurt car sales.
Deaths on the public streets have gotten so out of control that local governments and police forces go out of their way to victim blame in these circumstances as a means of ensuring the municipality / state / province won’t be held liable for unsafe street designs, insufficient speed enforcement, etc.
That’s 785,000 deaths in 20 years due to the belief that Bubba-Joe needs a 400hp car to drive 5 blocks to the 7-11 to pick up Ding-Dongs and smokes.
But for some weird and bizarre reason, society is very, very reluctant to approve of death in order to be relieved of mental health issues.
It’s almost as if society is okay with death as long as the person dying isn’t seen as having a say in their own death.
This no doubt is a result of the belief of imaginary friends in the sky and the concept of “life after death”.
People seem to be comforted by the idea that they will still somehow exist after their death. People seem to be comforted by the idea that they will go to a land of happiness and eternal sunshine if they keep their imaginary friend happy.
When we die, we die.
That’s it.
That’s all.
And there is nothing wrong with that.
That’s the way life works.
I think it’s a fucking shame that religious people think that I need to be made to suffer in life so that I can make their imaginary friend happy with the notion that if I keep their friend happy then I can float up to a paradise in the clouds and enjoy eternal happiness.
Maybe it’s also a way for the religious to avoid taking responsibility for hell on Earth.
My life was altered into a sick fucking joke starting in 1978. I didn’t have a say in this.
I only get one life.
Maybe that’s the difference between me and the religious.
I accept the fact that we only get one life.
I don’t simply shrug my shoulders in the belief that the magical sky-daddy will open his arms to me if I suffer, and that the magical sky-daddy will even let me have another turn on Earth.
I am the result of Richard’s and Marie’s DNA mixing, plus a lifetime of lived experiences.
I will never exist again. No one similar to me will ever exist again.
I could choose to suffer like an imbecile.
Or I can choose to die and be freed from all of this nonsense.
I choose with my brain to be freed.
Beeshive 