Long enough title for ya? I’m sort of feeling a little Bloggess-esque with that crazy-ass title. Not changing it though.
So. I have to tell you a secret. Not a hush hush type secret that you have to keep all to yourself or I’ll kill you. No. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not psychotic. It’s time I show transparency (snort) and let you into how my mind really works. Be afraid, my friends. Be very, very afraid.
Once upon a time, I was a 6th grade girl. I really was. And by the way, that’s the year I got my period. I told this girl Amy…as a top secret information type of thing. She told the whole freaking school. So everyone knew. Wow, was that embarrassing. And Mrs. Valentine, my 6th grade teacher, took me aside while the kids were at recess and had a woman to woman with me, showing me where she kept the maxi pads. ANYWAY, as usual, I digress. Or I’m avoiding telling you…hmmm…
As I was saying…
I remember. Very vividly. I had a dream that I was standing in front of a grave in, what I presumed to be a cemetery. I KNEW it was mine, even before I looked at the name engraved on the stone that stood before me. Apparently, I had just died because it was a freshly dug grave and I remember smelling earthworms. I stood in shock when the name on the tombstone finally registered. And I crumpled down upon the freshly turned earth, curled into a fetal ball, and sobbed.
I woke up sobbing.
I remember this dream. As well as I remember my own name. And here, 28 years later, I’m sharing it finally. I never told anyone about it.
Now, mind you, I think I know why I dreamed this. We had done some sort of thing in school that predicted when we would die. The year of my death was going to be 2026. Yes. That IS something I would remember. The approximate date of your death, well, it kind of sticks with you.
But I recall being so upset because I was going to die at such a young age. In 2026, I’m only going to be 56 years old. That news upset me slightly. And I’m positive, to this day, that is why I had this very real, vivid and exceptionally terrifying (but not in a nightmare sort of way) dream.
Only. And now this is where the secret tale comes in.
That dream. It made me so scared of growing old and dying. I know all the bullshit lines. Yes, growing old is better than the alternative. Well, apparently, according to my 6th grade prediction, I don’t have to worry about growing too old.
But I live in fear of it regardless. Not the wrinkles. Although, that doesn’t sit well with me. Gray hair. I have copious amounts that are masked with varying degrees of blond and light brown. I’m perfectly fine going gray.
It’s the getting old part. The withering and wilting. The memory fading with the eyesight and hearing.
Just growing old. Everything about it. And the dying.
I think it would sit better with me if growing old was just a number and there wasn’t this dying thing kind of associated with it.
As I get older, I get more…I don’t want to say preoccupied, because it’s not a preoccupation. But I get more aware. Of time. Of my body not responding the way it used to. Of fine lines. Of slight hearing loss, because no, I’m not ignoring you. I truly don’t think I heard you.
And it petrifies me.
But I can’t do anything about it.
Except to try to stay alive past the age of 56, and grow old proudly. And live. LIVE and enjoy the life that I have. Not fixate on what is inevitable. Besides taxes, of course. Plus of course, save money for retirement and botox. And getting the roots touched up every 3-5 weeks.
I’ve lived with this fear for so long. And it’s stayed so deep inside of me. It’s almost become a part of me. Like my hair. I live with it yet only notice it if I actually let myself think about it.
I really need to let it go. To get over this.
Or just keep it deep and not bring it out again.
There is no point. Just a tale. A little piece of me I’m sharing with you.
But you? Do you have something that you’ve kept deep inside for so long that it’s become a part of you? Like a involuntary response?
Let’s just say that I’ll be keeping my therapist in the business for a while.
On the upside…go read my blog post that I just posted. There are a couple things on it that might cheer you up… 🙂
You have freaked my freak!
I hate those death-prediction-thingies. I won’t have anything to do with them, because they’d make me so paranoid I’d end up somehow running off of a cliff or something.
Yikes! Have you had any other predictions that have come true to prove the veracity of your 6th grade premonition? If not, I’d chalk it up to PMS and move right along 🙂
I agree with your post, and commentors as well – the passage of time seems to speed up as life moves on, and that’s scary. Sometimes I feel like I’m missing things, because I move slowly within the racing of time. I tend to just try not to think about it too much, but this is only successful about 50% of the time.
I think we all have things that we keep deep inside us, things we are too afraid to tell others, to share our deepest, darkest thoughts and worries and fears. It is hard to talk about, write down, but it’s there, in our thoughts.
I think the fear of getitng old, of change we see in ourselves, is scary, absolutely. I think about it often, even though I’m only turning 33. I think that is old, too, in a way. Time goes by too quickly, and it is scary. Getting older, as great as it can be, is scary. Death is not fun.
I’m not scared of dying. Well…I’m not scared of death itself. I don’t want it to be painful or anything but I’m not scared.
What freaks ME the hell out is the emotional turmoil it will have on others if I were to die soon. My kids, my husband, my parents (esp my mom), my brothers. I can’t think about ti too long because it hurts me to think of my kids being left without me and how profoundly that will change them. So now….I need to stop typing about it because I feel a lump in my throat.
What kind of school did you go to in 6th grade?! That is just not right! I think you should sue them for emotional distress.
I don’t like the thought of getting old and not being able to take care of myself. Or becoming senile. Ugh.
Remember the y2k scare? Enough said:)
My biggest fear is dying while my kids are young. What mother doesn’t have that fear? But I agree with you immensely! It’s not so much the wrinkles and the hair, but what about that memory, and the eyesight, and the hearing, and the joints going one way while we are wanting to go the other? I fear of getting a disabling disease that makes dying even worse! But then again, I’m a paranoid ninnie most of the time. I woke up on day after my 42nd birthday and discovered I couldn’t see anything close up – that is after 42 years of absolute perfect vision! The paranoia got worse. Now I’m haunted with getting hypothyroidism like my mother got cause I had my appendix taken out at the same age as she did. The fear factor just goes on, and where does it stop? So lately, I’ve been trying to thank myself and my body for getting me this far in life and telling it that I won’t give up on it so soon if it doesn’t give up on me. It doesn’t change my paranoia status, but it does make a little less anxiety-ridden. All was going pretty well until some idiot decided it was a good idea to make a movie named “2012”!
I’m always afraid they’ll leave.
57.
No male on my father’s side of the family has ever lived to 57. My dad thought he had it all made in the shade since he was born in 1957 and clearly that would save him.
Well, he made it to 50, anyway.
I know what you are thinking, I’m not male. But as dad’s oldest and having no biological sons I kind of became a daughter/son hybrid in that I was expected to carry on family business and yada yada.
So 57 scares the ever loving shit out of me.
but that wouldn’t be the story I hide. It’s written, in the blog drafts. I can’t push myself to publish it. There is ONE person alive who knows about it.
Someday…
That is the number one fear that keeps me up at night. Even though on a thought level, I know it’s silly. I once found a thought that helps a little. There’s this philosopher (I think it was) who said you have never been scared about not having been alive before you were born, so why be scared of ceasing to exist at the end. It sometimes helps a bit. But I share your fear. I had a physical response to reading your post. The same response I get in the middle of the night when I terrorise myself.
Crap.
I’m 56……….
I’m totally with you…I’m terrified of growing old and dying. You’re absolutely right though – we should live one day at a time and not allow ourselves to be preoccupied by the inevitable. But I lie awake at nights frozen in fear because I’m so scared of all the terrible things that happen as we get older, like an increased chance for serious illnesses and having to cope with dying family members. I’m making a concerted effort to slowly let these fears go because God has a plan for all of us, and there’s nothing we can do to change that! Thanks for confirming I’m not the only one with these crazy thoughts. 🙂