August 17th, 2024: What It Means To Be Alive

Good morning, my dear guests. It's currently 1:20 AM as I begin writing this, and I've spent every day of the last week crying. I have been scared to death nearly every day ... of death. I think we all are on some level, but this fear has been much more active this week, perhaps after the recent realization that my graduation from college is soon.

This graduation was a blip on the horizon that 5 years ago, felt like it was going to be impossible to reach. I felt like my life was going to be stuck in this house forever, stuck in this building that confines the later half of my memories to my brain and reminds me of my -- so far -- kind and quiet life. And yet, it's here. The job search is tireless and fruitless, the eyes are restless and weary, and the tension in my house has all but gone away. I have no doubt feelings like this will come at every major capstone in my life, including its inevitable ... anyways.

I don't have the courage right now to approach the topic lightly. I understand that we are but a momentary spasm in the grand chaos of the universe, an unlikely miracle in all of this conscienceless void, and yet my heart yearns to live forever. My heart wants time to see all the art, all the joy, and all the happiness that the world seems to create. The spasms in my brain want it to live for as long as it possibly can, and now that the spasms understand the inevitable, they are misfiring the sadness of death as often as it can force itself. The brain fights to stay in the moment but the body must obey entropy.

And with this, I realize the very reason for my robot-ification; the idea that I could logic away the fear and pain of the intrinsic finiteness of my own life was a great one for a 13 year-old-- hell, I could see it working for far longer if I was any dumber. In fact, the abstraction of it all; specifically, that last concept of the last paragraph: "spasms misfiring the sadness of death" is the only reason I can shake away the debilitating fear of acknowledging it all enough to keep writing.

No wonder I identify with robots, vampires, and virtual realities; all things that will live far longer than I will, and have far few weaknesses than the slightly overweight and sedentary young adult. No wonder nostalgia is so powerful, no wonder adaptation is so difficult, no wonder I keep accidentally writing myself down as a "teenager" or putting down the last year instead of the current one.

And yet, the world is beautiful and forever moving. So, I must keep fighting to see the future. I must see how it all plays out. I cannot allow myself to die until the very last moment. I must seek every opportunity for health, wellness, and success that I am given.

Tomorrow, I will eat blueberries for breakfast and attempt a 10-minute mile.

We'll see how much sadness of death lingers at the end.

Your half-robot,

DW

P.S. Still not suicidal :)