(no subject)

[thejunipertree]

It has been suggested on more than one occasion in the past few months that I may have some difficulty with "letting things go".

Confused? Probably not, if'n you know me, but I'll explain further anyway.

I'm more than a touch morbid in that I seem to have an undeniable attraction to dead things. Wee animals in jars, animal skulls, human cremains. It all holds a strange fascination to me, to the point where I actively collect these things.

I've also started talking about preservation methods for my pets. Out of the animals from my household who have died in the past four years, I have more of them in my freezer (and the Engineer's freezer) than I do in the ground or cremation boxes. I've talked about preserving some of them in fluid, in clear jars, for display (and I still think this isn't a bad idea). I've made semi-serious jokes about having my marmelade cat, Baby, taxidermied when he finally dies. But, instead of having him frozen into an unnatural pose, I want him filled with those tiny styrofoam balls they put in squishy pillows. And a heating pad. So I can still sit on the couch and rub his belly into oblivion.

When discussing these things a couple of weeks ago, it mentioned to me that perhaps all of this is the reason why I am so drawn to funeral service and am so determinedly (is that a word?) pursuing my education in it.

And honestly? I am not sure sometimes.

I have an incredibly strong fear of death, which has gotten much worse since my mother died and I have grown older. I obsess over it. I lie in bed in the little hours of night, unable to sleep because my head is full of "what if...?"s. I paralyze myself with thoughts of car accidents, gun attacks, and malignant cancers. A terror grips me when I think of what comes next after this life; my religion has been shaken to its core and barely provides shelter to me any longer.

All of this is so bizarre to me. I used to be perpetually suicidal; I've attempted it three times in my life when I was younger. Everything hurt so fucking much, I just wanted it all to stop. And as I grew older, I recognized I couldn't ever put those I loved through the particular kind of hellish pain the survivors are left holding, but the thought of self-annhilation was never very far from my mind.

Now? The very idea makes me sick to my stomach. Suicide is now an abomination to me. Mine, or anyone else's.

I don't understand any of it, personally. My brain has become such a whirlwind over the past few years that I'm not sure how I even get my boots on, half of the time. I'm so tightly wound, if one were to flick me, I'd probably *ping!* like a fine crystal wine goblet. Which is hilarious when I think about it, because I'm always hollaring at the Engineer for being uptight and how he needs to be more laid-back.

I think I need to go smoke a cigarette and shake this off my back. Who writes this shit on a Saturday afternoon, anyway?



My biggest fear is if I let you go,
You'll come and get me in my sleep.

Comments

[ninjalie.livejournal.com]

I can get your fascination with death and stuff like that, I've always had a thing for it and I used to research different procedures for dealing with remains. Anthony and I have discussed that we don't know what we'd do when my Mauu Mauu dies, we think we should mummify him and it's something we fully intend to do. I'm not really sure HOW yet, but I'd like to.