Memento Mori

What do you do when you are at the end?

The end could mean anything, really.

The end of your hopes.

The end of a relationship.

The end of optimism.

I sit back here, alone with my musings, as I always have and I find myself going back to the phrase ‘Memento Mori’, which means ‘Remember that you have to die’.

It wants you to reflect upon your mortality. And I do this. A lot.

Except, with a mind half twisted, it drags me down whenever I am at the end of something.

If I am going to die anyway, why must I suffer the time in between. I am sure all of us have thought about it.

And yet, it is difficult to find people who want to discuss it. Imagine that. It’s not a bad question. If all of us are suffering, in varying measures, then why do we not question the basic principles of life? Why are we alive at all, if we have the alternative to choose annihilation.

Now the thought may seem absurd. Some people would laugh and brush it away. Others would smile benignly, thinking to themselves that they have it all figured out and some people are simple crazy but they have to be kind to those.

But no one, absolutely no one, can answer the question.

So I come back to the beginning.

If your mind has told you that you have arrived at the end of something and somehow you cannot imagine life beyond that, what do you do?

Do you choose to die?

Or do you lament your misfortune?

Or, you simply don’t choose anything and just let things be.

I don’t know about others, but for as long as I have lived, I have focused on the many sufferings I have created and the pain I have indulged in. People say it is a part of life but to me it feels life pain is life, broken intermittently by few pleasures.

Now, I may be alone in feeling this. And yet, I cannot let go of this crushing, debilitating urge to end all this.

And so, I decided that I would quit. Not today. Not this week. But surely one day. And hanging on to this is perhaps all that keeps me sane.

But I don’t want to become an obscure statistic in Census files. No. Believe it or not, I have talent and skills that I have not been able to use. The only pleasure I ever derived was from indulging in these aspects. But they are ephemeral and cannot sustain the long drawn trauma of living.

And so I write. Here’s my checklist:

1. As soon as my dog passes, I shall seek death. You might ask why and I can think of nothing else other than to say that he is joyous and he wants to live. And I won’t deprive him of life just because I cannot stand mine.
2. Until then, I shall write. Just to show, just know that I existed.
3.Just to know that I existed and I suffered and I could not overcome it.

As soon as I finish writing this, I realise that I feel better. But I know the pain will be back.

The pain of uncertainty.

The pain of failing.

The pain of being weak.

The pain of being alive.

But at least now, I have a plan.