Everyone Dies - That Includes You and I, The Good and The Bad.

Whether after a long, winding road or a short blink of an eye existence, we are all ultimately worm food.

Yet, those who treated me with kindness are being snatched away from me too soon.

You know the song Only the Good Die Young by Billy Joel?

It's acceptable for me to know that a person gets to live out their entire, natural lifespan, or when a known physical illness cut short their lives.

Sudden losses - the unfortunate accidents - are what break me, especially a recent passing in September that I suspect was from a bullet meant for me.

I may be forced to live with the agonizing burden of never knowing or confirming the truth behind that departure.

I wrote about this in My Affliction Was Contagious ; That Transference Has Tragically Taken an Innocent Life

Photo by Christopher Campbell on Unsplash

Back in 2017, the passing of a talented singer became a reality I still struggle to process.

Even now, I cannot bear to listen to his final album. While the nature of being in a band means the lyrics may not have been an explicit, personal cry for help, the painful context of his suicide made me feel like we all missed the signal.

We all carry our own demons, and he carried his - fighting them and living to tell the story.

I am surrounded by demons of every kind, living in a dual hell - one raging within my mind, and one manifesting physically in my space.

I must constantly battle the demons of my own making, my internal struggles- while simultaneously contending with actual malevolent entities that have aggressively rooted themselves in my life, courtesy of some contemptuous den.

Well, I've moved past suspicion of a haunted house; it is definitively their playground now.

We all believed he was past the worst of it, or perhaps, more accurately, I desperately needed to believe that he's okay.

His survival was an encouragement for my own continuous battle.

His life was supposed to be the living proof that if he could endure, I should be able to, too.

It's the reason why I rooted for someone like him.

When he faltered, I was drowned in an overwhelming sense of failure and dread.

Even now, as I write this, my vision blurs with forming tears, and I can almost feel a sharp, visceral stab in my heart.

I was already in a terrible state when I received the news, having just started my own treatment. The impact was so severe that my doctor even considered admitting me to the ward.

I can't fully explain the mechanism - I've only read about this and am certainly no expert - I know one departure like that can dangerously trigger a crisis in another, especially among people who share such deep affinities in their struggle.

For me, the feeling was simple: if he faltered, what chance do I have? I had to fight hard against that thought.

Just weeks ago, a famous Korean author passed away. She was only 35 and struggled with dysthymia, a persistent depression.

I dare not look up the cause of death, hoping it was a natural passing and not another person I rooted for succumbing to their battle.

Baek Se-hee, best known for her memoir, I Want to Die But I Want To Eat Tteokbokki.

In her book, she opened up about her struggles and coping mechanisms, sharing recorded sessions with her therapist.

She shone her torchlight everywhere - under the bed, in the closet, illuminating all the dark, cobwebbed spaces. Such rare honesty.

For me, there are a million silly questions about myself I want answers to, but I hold back from my own therapist due to resource constraints and the fear of sounding nonsensical or stupid.

But Se-hee asked all the burning questions - the ones that might sound trivial to others.

To finally ask them and receive an answer or reassurance is like ticking a crucial item off a lifetime list.

It removes a burden of rumination, allowing a little positivity and hope to take its place.

She normalized this talk, this seeking of treatment - the very things many of us hide behind closed doors.

Worse, in my own life, when I have tried to talk about these feelings, I have been shut down or had my struggles weaponized against me.

Then I would close off, holding everything in until I occasionally lost control.

An emotional eruption.

I once blurting out far too much personal information to a new acquaintance - when all she had done was ask a simple ice-breaker question - who must have surely thought I was utterly cuckoo.

Chronic suppression would do more harm than good.

I needed to write this out, to spell out the burden I'm carrying right now - to process having two subsequent, significant departures in my orbit.

Perhaps I shouldn't root for anyone so heartily. I didn't even realize I was doing it until the shock of this processing forced the realization upon me.

I had unconsciously hinged my own hope on the survival of others.

Maybe not everyone feels this vulnerability as acutely as I do, but I do know many of her readers share my sentiments.

It is really burdensome to read the sadness stacking up in the comments area of her passing news.

I've stopped looking for more updates.

I am now weathering another round of a depressive episode. The timing can be purely coincidental; I don't believe this cycle was directly triggered by the recent news.

I may not be responsive to any communication for a while. I just need this quiet time to gather my strength and crawl out of this state again.

I wrote this reflection days after the initial news, but it has sat in my draft for weeks.

Please allow me the necessary time.

I believe I can and I will come out of this once more.

©Britt H.

Thank you for reading this.

More about the person behind the writing in My Introductory Post