read this if you’re terrified

of life, of death, of yourself.

“There she is, a human being, diving into the unknown, and she is wide awake.”

- My Year of Rest and Relaxation.

Dear Reader,

Let’s look at it this way: You’re a driver on a highway. The road is narrow and dark. There’s an oncoming truck. And it’s going to hit you. There’s no swerving. There are no breaks. It’s going to hit you.

You must be brave so you face it head-on. You must be tender so your skin snaps back into place as the shards of glass go through it. You must be tough, so you grit your teeth until the pain wanes. And you must keep driving, with whatever is left of your car. And whatever is left of you.

There’s not just one truck though. There are thousands. As many as you have days to live. One after the other, they pile up. Their only purpose is to derail or destroy you.

You’ve never been good at being brave. Or being you. or being free. You get freedom and you run back to them with the leash. You get kindness and you hope they don’t regret it. The sky is constantly trembling to fall on top of you. The ground, aching to break beneath your feet.

You hold on to what you know. You make a list of everything that could go wrong. You go through it twice and try to memorize the hurt, the heartbreak, the tragedy. Maybe if you live out the pain now, it won’t hurt as much when it actually happens.

But the thing is, sooner or later, something terrible will happen. Your phone will break. You stain through your period panty. You fail a test. You get divorced. Your mother dies. Something terrible will happen and it will knock the breath out of you.

And you’d think you’d be ready for it. With all the thinking, planning, and crying you’ve done in preparation. But you won’t be. You never are.

The pain will gnaw at you. The hurt will melt the skin off your bones. The tragedy will color you in shades you’ve never known.

Anxiety is stewing in the grief before the tragedy strikes. But it doesn’t matter how much you’ve stewed. There’s still plenty of boiling left to do.

And you’ll survive it, yes. So why cower?

Why bother? Why play dead when a good, hard slap will open your eyes?

Put your hand out the car window and feel the wind rush through it. Turn up the radio, sing along to the melody. Play ‘I Spy’ and reminisce on the good old days. The good new days. Days before you knew the trucks existed. And the days after.

And when the next one comes, when the headlights start to fry your eyes behind their lids. When the metal comes rushing to you with the intent to consume, stay wide awake. Be tender, be tough, be brave.

Stay wide awake.