Unreasonable Acceptance

Unreasonable Acceptance

I have this feeling. That I’m going to die. Not by physical illness or natural causes. Not by homicide or old age.

I have the feeling, an acceptance that I’m going to die. By my own hands, I’m going to die. I don’t actively feel like I want to die. But I have this knowing feeling I’m going to die. Maybe during the summer, maybe in six months, or in 2 years.

I feel like I’m high sometimes, like I’m on cloud nine. I cling and shower those near me with my affections. But sometimes I find myself sitting on the floor.

I looked into my room recently. I saw my personality, my likes and dislikes. I saw the posters on my walls, the figurines, the paintings. I look on my desk and I see rocks. I see a stack of books on a chair, I haven’t read them, I just like to hoard books. I see the things around that I kept for good luck. I go into my closet and I see a box full of school work since fourth grade. I see another box on top full of my writings, then another box full of my sister’s drawings. Then the last box stacked on top full of my favorite movie collection.

I see a bunch of stamps my sister gave me on the shelf. My jar of special things too, a few baby teeth, two dollar bills, coins, and my name. My clothes hold no personality, just random styles, some of my favorite cartoons.

I sat down on the floor and looked up at the ceiling. I saw a dream catcher I’ve had since I was elementary, when I got my first and last goat. My mom got it for me in Oklahoma while I was sleeping in the truck. It’s been on the ceiling for the last six years.

I’ve felt it, knowing I’m going to die. But I didn’t confirm it until I was sitting on my room floor. The acceptance I feel, it’s only temporary. I know the panic will sit in, I can feel the conflict in my body. The acceptance of death being denied by my natural instinct to live. So I know the panic, the nausea will set in, make a home in my chest.

How do I tell someone I know I’m going to die?