I’m going to die soon.

I’m going to die soon. I’ve had this feeling for about a year now. I’ve split my head open twice, now, in my life. The first time was when I was about 4 or 5. I was running on a playground that used small pebbles as its cushiony flooring. My feet slid, I fell forehead first onto the rocks. The only other thing I remember is my dad used my favorite Barney shirt to apply pressure to the bloody wound. The second time was last year, in Philadelphia, at Mac’s Tavern. I went to the bathroom and did not anticipate the door to be made of the lightest wood imaginable. I used too much force and the sharp length flung right into the center of my forehead, splicing me open. It healed into a faint scar.

I can’t get rid of this feeling that I am going to die soon. It weighs down my heart. I don’t know how it’s going to happen. Part of me thinks it will be by my own hand. This feeling started about a year ago (it’s 2023 right now). Quite a few of my family died within a matter of months. I lost a grandmother, grandfather, a man who is not my father but may as well have been, and the most gruesome was a childhood pet.

My best theory, so far, is that when they all died they started following me around. The second I split my head open, some of their ghosts wormed their way into my body through a combination of said split head and immediately going on a haunted cemetery tour. It’s sad that this is my best theory. It’s sad that part of me does want to die soon.

I keep waiting for it. My life, it keeps getting harder. It all feels tied to money. I want to take someone out, buy them dinner. I cannot afford it. Some weeks I can barely afford a bus pass. I’m not on all my medication so going outside is a bit hard right now. It’s not that I don’t want to be on my medication, I cannot afford it. That being said, last year I was on all my medication and still had this feeling.

I’m going to die soon. The feeling is bubbling back up. I cried in the bathroom at work tonight. Looked at the cleaning supplies. I thought about hurting myself. The heat of metal popping against my skin, even now, sounds relieving. I just kept crying. I can’t do that. I will not do that. I want to, though. I don’t know if believe that I’m actually going to die soon. I just wish things were easier.