![]() ![]() The end of seemingly endless days.Ī positive of this fear, I guess, is that I don’t really take too many things for granted. The end of the brief time we get to make our presence count. The end of opportunity to live out dreams. The end of days that we shared with someone we loved. What is scary, rather, is the concept of THE END. I have a secure belief in Christ and the promise of eternity. It’s not death itself that is frightening. I’m also a bit of an empath: I pick up other peoples’ feelings on my antennae too and have to conscientiously shut it off or I’d just be a crying machine all the time (which wouldn’t be much help to anyone and I’m sure would be pretty annoying to the people actually going through the things). Maybe this is sort of a morbid aspect of my personality, but having to live through your childhood nightmares will do that to you, as I’m sure many others could attest. Dreams about losing people that I love, dreams that rip my heart out. When my mom actually did die two years ago, way before her time, the nightmares came back. I remember, many nights following the toilet paper incident, laying in my bed and sobbing and sobbing because I realized that I was probably going to outlive my parents. Also, maybe being the only child of psychologist parents had something to do with it.Īnyway, since that moment, I’ve always been very aware of THE END. I was a weird kid, what can I say? # INFPproblems. This analogy was my first notion of the concept of mortality. I realized, in a vague sort of way, that all the people I knew were kind of like little squares of toilet paper that were being constantly unrolled. I ran to the bathroom and began unrolling the roll of toilet paper, because what four year old can resist asserting such tremendous power as unrolling something that has been so carefully wound? Anyway, in my tyrannical rampage, I remember having a very startling and serious thought for the first time: this toilet paper is going to be very hard to put back, in fact, once it’s unrolled that’s pretty much it. I have this memory of being about four years old and running around the house like a wild monkey.
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