Sometimes I’m really afraid. Of sudden death. Of mutilation. Of stroke. Of not being able to walk. Of not having someone who loved me back. Of dying alone. Of brain death. Of god. Of hell. Of not being able to breath. Of not being able to smell. Of losing my eye sights.
Of almost everything.
I know I shouldn’t be so paranoid. But I can’t help it. Sometimes I really hate number 4 that I will count the urinals in men restroom and pick not the #4 urinal.
I hate number 4 to the extent of requesting my hotel room, or my seat number on plane/bus/train not to have number 4. I even try to avoid seats with D in it.
Like “oh you have seat 44D. enjoy your flight sir!”
“ermmm… I’m sorry but, can I get another seat?”
Not that I’m fussy or anything, I just don’t want number 4 to be associated with me.
I used to hate the number 13. But I slowly incorporated it into my life. Like setting the stereo volume in my car to 13.
Well. Just that actually. Baby steps.
Anyhow, I know that me being paranoid is baseless. Stupid. And made my heart beating at unusual rate from time to time. Anxious about everything. About if my laptop suddenly burst into flames. About if my tyre blow up on my face when I try to check the pressure. Or when I keep thinking people are coming to beat me up at the ATM, restaurant cashier. At the supermarket. Or hit my car on the road.
I live in constant fear. And I feel helpless sometimes. I want to roll into a ball and cry. I want to get away and cry. But I can’t.
I don’t know.
Sometimes I think about ending my life. So I don’t have to suffer all these things. I think about it and I refuse to do it because my mum might be super angry about it, and I definitely go to hell.
I probably going to hell.
Have I told you that I am afraid of hell?
posted by Musang at 8/16/2016 12:29:00 am
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