Nobody Dreams of Dying

It takes some time to get used to the knowledge that you’re dying. It’s daft really because, in a way, everyone is dying. Some even say that we were put on this earth just to die. While that is a morbid thought, have you ever pondered over it? Have you given the idea time to muse around in your head and consider all the details? All the evidence and facts we know about our existence? About the inevitable? I have. It has taken me a while but I now finally know my answer, I know my thoughts on this exactly. But that is for me to know, no spoilers. First of all, it's rude of me to forget introductions.

My name is Myria Cole, I’m loud, head strong and opinionated. I have a tight group of friends and a good enough, if not slightly dysfunctional, family. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing so incredible it’s required by whatever greater power is out there to be recorded for others to read and attain knowledge of in order to better their lives in some way. No, that’s not what this is, just so you know. It’s just a record, my scribbled and drabble about things I’ve seen and how I mainly spend my time now. It's a way to get this off of my chest. This time is, mostly, spent scribbling down all my little whims and exploring. At the age of 27 I should be working, I know this very well but things changed. I changed. I held different jobs since I was 18, the first was just a little thing lending a hand part time in the florists but they went under when the little old lady, the one who owned it, became ill. From there I was taken on in the corner shop then the supermarket and seemed to flit from one profession to the other when the venture before didn’t pan out the way I hoped.

It wasn’t until I was about 23 when, having meandered from post to post for the last 5 years, I got the news; there was a reason I’d been struggling with things. Especially recently. We found out that these bouts of oddness, for lack of a more accurate description and the variety of symptoms, was due to a certain condition I had developed. It felt to me as if my brain was, to put it bluntly, failing. Of course it wasn’t really but I could feel something wrong that made things harder for me, as if I was slipping away. Never the less, before you start putting on those sad eyes and an ache develops in your chest, save your pity for someone who truly needs it. Although, I’m a firm believer that no one should truly be pitied, but again that is just my opinion and I am in no way inferring that my view is correct.

I digress, 3 months after diagnosis we found out that it was something they couldn’t estimate accurately as every patient’s case and deterioration is different from the last. I will most likely lose abilities to function the way most of the population does, possibly suffer from great pain or numbness and be forced to rely on others to remember things or do things for me. The latter being the one that probably sat most uneasily with me; I’m not saying I didn’t care about the others, I sure did, there was just something inside me that screamed at the thought of burdening those close to me with the responsibility of seeing to all me needs. I love the attention now, sometimes, but no one wants to have someone talk to them as if they are 2 and do everything for them. Perhaps that’s just me though. I can take care of myself and I hate to think of those close having to do that, imagine how tedious it would get. They would grow to despise me. Of course, that last comment isn’t true in the slightest as they would never grow to despise me, I know them far too well but I also know it wouldn’t always be so peachy.

Roughly, that's about it. I’m a 27 year old who travels around on her own back while I still can, picking up work and money here and there. I’m fond of it all and I’m good at it, with my big mouth. I’ve seen so many things out there in the world, so many people, smells, feelings and sights. It’s truly a feast for your senses. The places I’ve been aren’t all the little back streets you think I’m talking about, some have just been the tourist areas. You’d be surprise how refreshing it is and it’s remarkably easy to attain a temporary job in such places. I found that while those little places full of culture are truly, undeniably incredible, the places swarming with tourists provide a much needed break. Refreshment of sorts. Truth be told, I’m scared every day, anything could go wrong. I could wind up lost, contract an illness from these foreign countries or be kidnapped. But the most important reason that I'm scared? I’m dying and there is nothing that anyone can do about it, but I'm ok with that. Scared but ok.