Sunday, July 5, 2015

It's Okay, Let It Go

Every day in the U.S. about 6,700 people die.  Most of them die alone.

I used to think that was a horrible thing but I realize now it is perfectly fine to die alone.  It's not like I'm going to be having a conversation with somebody as I give up the ghost anyways.  And what in the fuck are we going to be talking about?  Regrets?  All the shit I wished I'd done but instead tried to be the person I thought I was supposed to be instead of the person I was?  Fuck that!

It's best to die alone.  Really.

I always figured I would be the guy that died in an apartment full of books.  Nobody would know I was in there unless the landlord wanted his money or the smell got funky--whichever came first.

Death doesn't bother me.  It's how I get to that point that does.  It would totally suck being fed feet-first into a woodchipper.  Or to have pieces ripped off by a pack of drunken chihuahuas half-starved and out of their minds on rot-gut booze.  In recent days, I've also learned that dying from an intestinal blockage is not only painful, but slow as hell.

I'll say this here for all to read--I don't own any scarfs, okay?  Not one!  Seriously, I mean it.  If you hear some weird story about me being found with a scarf around my neck and my pants down that's total bullshit.  I don't own a scarf.

Sometimes you have to let things like life go.  Burn out, fade away--doesn't matter.  Dead is dead and gone is gone.

It's like turning your back on unrequited love.  You care about them.  You want them to be happy and you want to be the one who makes them smile.  Just a smile.  Maybe laugh, too.  You think about them all the time and know they don't give two shits about you and probably never will.  Not like how you care about them.  And it's not even like you want them to reciprocate.

Just accepting what you feel about them is enough sometimes.  You don't want them to scream, "Oh my God!  I feel the same way!  Let's get fucking married and live forever and never, ever be apart even for a second!  I gotta poop, come with me!"

No.  Then it just gets weird.

But we all know how this ends, don't we?  You let your feelings be known, they inform you how they might be a bit flattered, that it's awkward, and they don't feel the same about you.

It's a little death.  A piece of you feels like it got infected with Ebola and died in a shitty hospital in Africa covered in feces and surrounded by flies.  You might drag that rotting piece of you around for a bit, not wanting to give it up, but flies will lay their eggs.

It's okay, let it go.

Death is awesome!  Death is just the end of a level.  It's just crossing the state lines into a state with all new drinking laws and cheaper taxes.  It's a state where the cops don't know about your past history with explosives and illegal uses for peanut butter.

Death is when you don't have to pay the tab on all the shit you ordered at a restaurant.  Forget the bills, you're dead!

The little deaths in our lives are for the best.  It's when we walk away from things that no longer work for us like a puddle of vomit on the sidewalk on a hot, August day.  We don't need it, so don't carry it.
It's okay if they don't love you.  Really.  You don't need their love to exist.  If you needed love to exist, then there would be more chemical and genetic imperatives to make it happen.  Sure, we can pro-create.  Ask any teenager about that.

But there is a huge difference between a chemical reaction on a body part and the emotional connection between humans.  We are so much more than a bag of disgusting chemicals.

So cleave off the emotional dead parts you're carrying around with you.  The unrequited loves, the jobs that no longer suit your needs or reward your efforts, the belongings you have sitting around collecting dust but for the life of you can't remember where they came from or why you even have them.

Let it go, it's okay.

I'm cleaving.  I'm getting rid of shit.  I'm turning my back and walking away.  I'm taking the dead pieces, burying them in the sand like fish heads in a garden, and planting seeds the aliens gave to me. Whatever grows there isn't my problem.

Let it go, the stump will only hurt for a short while.  Don't pick the scab.  Let is heal over and be done with it all.

It's going to be okay.  

1 comment:

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