I have twinges.
Twinges of guilt, twinges of fear, twinges of regret.
Twinges in my heart.
Not my metaphorical heart, my literal, physical heart.
I am too young to die.
But of course, that’s silly. People die every day – some are seconds old, some are over a century.
I have a friend from high school who is currently fighting inflammatory breast cancer (a really deadly iteration) and suffers complications from lupus. She is fighting every day to live. She’s two months younger than me.
So why do I feel like I am too young to die? Immune to the rigors of illness or dangers of the modern, chemical-filled world? Immortal and impervious?
Well, I don’t. I mean, logically I know I am not too young, immune, immortal or impervious.
Yet somehow, it doesn’t really seem possible. It doesn’t really seem…POSSIBLE.
Still, once up a time, I spent 9 days in the hospital because an infection beneath my cracked molar would not go away and my face got so swollen and- ANYWAY, moving on. I had a terrible reaction to Depo-Provera (too lazy to double-check the spelling, sorry) and bled for four months straight. The doctor who finally saw me told me that I was a matter of days from being hospitalized over that (and death, there, too).
I have been close.
But I have not believed it really…really… true.
Some nights, I sit up for hours, listening to (and feeling) every beat of my heart – to make sure it keeps going.
Some nights, I take my pulse a thousand times because after hours of ‘feeling every thump’ suddenly I am not feeling it, and that freaks me out.
Some days, I drive Mark crazy by constantly worrying that I am about to drop dead.
Then I wonder if it isn’t just better to get it over with? Let it happen now, tonight, and then – if I survive – I can rebuild, I have the technology.
…after all of that, I still eat the Reese’s Easter Egg when presented with it. Because I am just stupid.
And convinced of my own immortality, even though I am not.
Twinges, man. I got twinges.
Note: Image is “dices” by (tijmen) from SXC.hu