Thanatophobic Gibberish.

Yet again I have subscribed to an illogical fallacy, that I'm dying. Honorable mentions go to WebMD and Wikipedia for their wonderful symptoms lists that are so easily applied to the everyday life. I have diagnosed myself as being in the later stage 3 of colorectal cancer, which has metastasized and is now invading my liver, kidneys and esophagus. I am having infection related fevers and often suffer from trouble swallowing due to excess bile being distributed to my swelling lymph-nodes in reaction to clumps of tumor clogging my bile ducts. Yes I have convinced myself of this without any evidence and with a considerable amount of inaction. I have always had this evangelical sense of impending doom. Because I feel as though it is a sense that has been with me for so long I can only speculate what I think contributed to my apocalyptic attitude.

I was raised with a sense of importance and urgency that any child could not ignore. My impact would be felt by many generations and I don't just mean my carbon footprint. There was a plan for my existence and it reached far into my future, spanning my life and finally wrapping up in a glorious meaningful death that would make people unafraid, and even dignified, to some day die just like me. Heaven was real and I knew it by the smell of apples falling from my neighbors tree and felt it every time I played Sci-Fi games in my best friends basement. It's not that I was ignoring what was wrong with the world or the suffering therein, I just felt that this life as short as it is would be worth any torment for the sake of eternity.

But I soon found that all the meaning and planning that had happened long before my birth in the stages where God conceived my name and purpose, was a lemonade stand in the desert. It was hard for me to release the idea of manifest destiny and start coping with human plight. All along the way to my personal enlightenment I still had things that I carried and often regarded as holy infallible wisdom. Truth as seen at the first word of a sentence. It was mostly fear that I equated with knowledge. Fear that if I jacked off one more time I would get cancer or not be able to reproduce. Fear that if I had sex before I G-d told me it was right, I would suffer a harsh consequence, like a woman cheating on me or deciding one day that she no longer loved me.

But then nothing happened. I masturbated regularly, often to images completely inadmissible to Christian morality. I had sex and regretted it, not based on fundamentalist precepts but rather because I thought at the time it was a necessary step in the direction of adulthood. So then swimming in my nihil pool of grace, it came to mind that I should seriously consider the fallibility of my body and the opposition I face from nature.

With both concepts combined: The punishment of God and the infallibility of myself, I faced an undeniable conclusion: I was fucked. I'm not going to say that I "believed" that I was dying, past tense, because in my mind I am in a way. The mind has a fond friend in delusion and the evidence exists in many facets of being. Whether it be God, State, or Anarchy, We humans will find some lucid subjective axiom to blanket the congregation with. Unlike blanket truths I don't claim any significant victory of knowledge, in fact I claim defeat. My rationalization and logic have been reduced to a nonsensical roux.

It's a good thing my mate likes butter, I would have a miserable time dying without love.