impending doom/contradiction of terms/random thoughts

Is it bad to feel a sense of impending doom at sixteen? It isn't a morbid fascination with death or a sick curiosity, just a worry late at night. I close my eyes and think about all of the things I haven't done yet, all of the things I don't want to miss. I may have moments of weakness, hopelessness, and self-destruction, but that certainly doesn't mean I have any less desire to live. If anything, it means I want to live more. I want a chance to make up for those wasted moments and make something meaningful of my time here.

I am terrified that no matter what, I will be forgotten. I shudder to think of how small I truly am, of how ultimately insignificant we all are. Everything I've ever thought, known, loved, and seen will one day be lost, irrevocably and permanently lost. This moment, this tiny flicker of life that is my soul, is minuscule. The universe is never-ending, time never stops, and one day all too soon, I will be something less than a memory. There is a beauty to it, in a way, but mostly tragedy.

I spend my time in two states of mind. The first is impulsive, carefree, and happy. When I am focusing on the here and now, when I am untroubled by philosophical things. These are the times when I think of weekend plans and love and all the hopeful things that young people think of. I wish I spent more time in that state of mind.

The second is contemplative. I worry. I think about years and how they're passing too quickly, how soon the prime of my life will be over and I will grow resentful of everything I love now. I think about love. I think about how grossly unjust it is that some find it so young, and some may have to wait until it is too late to fully experience it. I think of deep things that make me feel profound, and I think of profound things that make me feel very small. I think myself petty for the time spent not worrying about my fate and that of those I love, all the while wishing I was simple enough to not care.

I believe that when I am old and have lived a full life, when I have seen the ruins of the people who built my life, when I have let the sun kiss my skin a few too many times, when I have loved and lost and recovered, when I have contributed in some way, when I have left my mark on this God-forsaken Earth, I believe that then I will be resigned to death. I will peacefully accept that my time has come and my journey must end. It will be calm. And no matter how death comes, I will be ready for I have lived.

But I have not lived yet.

I have yet to find a meaning. I have yet to bear the burden of success, wear the lines of experience on my skin. I have yet to make mistakes that will shape me. I have yet to decide what I must be. I have yet to be anything. I am just starting now, to see the way the world works. I am just beginning to understand what is important.

I know for a fact that I will not feel I have a place in this world and a meaning until I hold my own child in my arms. I know I will not appreciate the complexity, wonder, and fragility of life until I have lost. I will not know love until it is gone. I will not know sacrifice until I have nothing left to give. I will not know devastation until I have nothing left to lose.

This is not life, this teenage struggle for understanding. This is preparation. This is the beginning. We are almost lucky - we know how it ends. It is only the constant fear of the when that holds us back.




I don't know what this is. I started it as a chapter for my new book, but I put too much of myself into it. It's rambling. It's chaos. It's art. It's whatever you want to make of it. This is what happens when I don't sleep.