Elle 

I am going to die. I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But someday I will die. Death is the ultimate unknown. I have gone through an eclectic process of determining what I believe happens after death. I was raised religious and for most of my life thought I had the good fortune of being born into a community that had all the answers. Lucky me. When I was 19, I was given the opportunity to begin to doubt everything I had been taught. I then spent the next 15 years seeking answers on my own. Regardless of what I currently believe will happen after I die, the truth of the matter is I simply don’t know. How wild is it that at any given moment I might end not knowing if that end is final or a transition of some kind? If it is a transition, will that transition be pleasant or unpleasant? I don’t know. Do you? What do you think you know? If you are blessed to have been given the answers, is there not the tiniest seed of doubt? Do you fear death? For me, the option to die has often been a source of consolation. Having the ability to make it all end has afforded me comfort in my darkest hours. A couple years ago my aunt took her own life. She stabbed herself in the neck. I think about that often. Out of all the times I’ve fantasized about taking my own life I never once considered severing my jugular. I can’t help but wonder if she was murdered. The police report says suicide. Perhaps when I die I can ask her and perhaps not. When I’m fantasizing about death I get into the nitty gritty details. I wonder about my dirty laundry. Should I wash it first? I would feel bad about leaving it for someone else to deal with. I suppose it would be easier to just throw it away. I would feel bad about that too though. There’s laundry at the very bottom of the hamper that has been there for at least a year. It’s the articles of clothing that need to be dry cleaned or hand washed that I never seem to get to. Am I really just going to leave with that unfinished business? Why is laundry such a pain in the ass? As I’m working through everything I would need to do before I would feel okay about killing myself, I realize it would be easier to just live. Laziness is what keeps me going.

I should probably get to the point of this blog. I do have a point and there is a clue in the title. I aim to expose myself; the good and the bad. Confession is a known cathartic process. It’s been made acceptable only behind a veil or the closed doors of a therapist’s office with the listeners sworn to secrecy. And why must it be secret? Because we are afraid if people knew our secrets they wouldn’t like us anymore.

Well I’m going to share all my secrets with you; from my most shameful thought to my most tender desire. Secrets breed separation and loneliness. I have felt alone most my life. Perhaps by reading my secrets you will feel a little less alone.