I am dead...

I am dead… :-O

Considering the price of cigarettes is soon to move up to the teens, I have been pondering about quitting smoking… at least, move to the stage of smoking cesstion.

Getting ready for bed, I Smoked the last cigarette in the pack, only to find the insurmountable amount of anxiety rising from within---

There are no more cigarettes when I lay in bed and when I wake up in the morning….

It was a kind of obsessive compulsive thinking.

I attempted thought stopping.

I attempted refocusing on something else.

However, I was more than aware of the real reason behind all these effortful trials.

Then, as I was stepping on to the ladder of the bunk bed, I came up with this brilliant idea...

In stead, I looked at myself and I said, “Assume you are dead.”

Yes, just assume that I am dead then no memory is to be recollected and no anxiety is to be triggered by any notion and any kind of “deprivation.”

So, I laid down in bed murmuring to myself silently… “I am dead. I am dead. I am dead….”

This morning, although I applied the patch on and physical withdraw was not yet an issue in concern, I still could not help thinking about cigarettes, either consciously or unconsciously.

As a result, I had to keep on reminding myself of the “fact” that I am dead.

Telling myself that I am dead did help me to live through the majority of first day on my mission to smoking cessation. However, it was before I came home did I walk into Duane Reade and bought me myself a pack of cigarettes.

Two hours after I unpatched myself, upon arrival chez moi, I sat down and lit a smoke... fixed that nicotine craving a bit but did not really get me that buzz.

Death…….

That seems to be a thought so very comforting and its sound uncovers all residues and dissipates it all.

My obsession with death doesn’t translate to my lack of fear for confrontating my or other’s death.

I am afraid of death.

The last thought I could endure is the notion of death associated with people I care about.

My own death, on the contrary, is a notion both too distant and too close for me to comprehend.

Surely, I had those nights…

Those were the days in which none was to come for my aid when assassins came attempting to kill me one after another and night after night.

They killed me with guns, knifes, poisons, and any means I could ever imagine.

I had been subjected to methods such as being crushed, drown, frozen, burnt, and all other ways of death.

One day at a time, I would be sitting in front of my desk or lying in my bed or the bed in the hospital, hearing the warnings about the secret service, the police, the special forces, the demons, the devils, the ghosts, and the everything else, getting ready to come take my life.

The expectation of the process of being killed and become dead marks the highlight of the nights.

One time, they missed me but took the life of the patients next to me.

I was lying there, listening to them, and waiting for my time.

I missed my own death that night.

At that point, it was all so clear to me that it was not my own death that is most torturing.

Rather, it was the possibility for me to be killed but not to die that is most exhausting (similar experiences is actually depicted pretty well in the movie Solaris).

It occurred to me that… for the many a time I was killed, I remained to live as a person, as a zombie, as a ghost, and as any other kinds of creatures.

Everyone else could die and remain dead, I remained to live and I could not die.

I was subjected to the cruel torture of living my zillion deaths, along.

This series of torture did not stop until I finally was told that I am only human…

What a lengthy detour one has to take to reclaim one’s humanhood! :-O lol sigh…

Perhaps, this is the reason why I have been so very anal retentive about death and its implications… shall anyone, such as me, every wonder why…

So, again, last night, before bed, I said to myself, “Assume you are dead.”

It was not a sense of irresponsibility that drove me into that thought.

Rather, I was counting on a state where all is dissolved and where there is nothing but Dasein.

It is a state when I could simply open all sensory channels of mine and experience existence as it is.

So, does it mean that it was nothing more than a morbid day I led today?

Quite the contrary, the state of being dead allows me for a new life, new routines and an ez-pass to view the world the way I like to see it.

Of course, my detached way of being also helps in helping me to believe in a life just like heaven…

I do not know whether it will work or not to help me cut down on smoking successfully, if not quitting it, since I did have 3 cigarettes today. Yet, think positively, it is better than one pack a day and all these dead talk is actually fairly anxiety-probing.… lol

At least, that would be a good way for me to conduct a case study about the implications of psychotic symptoms as well as the side effects of the antipsychotic medications. lol

I am dead but I remain alive.

The notion of death will not engender a sense of irresponsibility. Rather, as mentioned earlier, it should be used as a way to clear all background noise and focusing on what death could inspire… a relative and progressive view of equality in mankind (as long as you don’t ask me what that progressive view means).

At the same time, I am aware that a night’s mumble jumble on death is enough. Or else, I might as well be really dead if I were to let myself dwell on this BS for I would really be a even worse lost soul in limbo then… lol