I promised myself I'd blog once more before the surgery.
Honestly, my secret is that I'm not scared of the knife or the needle. I'm unnerved by the recovery, yes, but it seems manageable. My fear is born mainly of the lack of consciousness.
How precious and intricate our thoughts are, perfectly balanced chemicals in perfect ratios to give us all that we think and do. Everything I'm thinking now, everything that lets me write this to you, is so tiny and perfect, a billion tiny reactions in my mind. So what happens when that gets messed with?
I'm scared of turning off those synapses. I'm scared of being completely gone. I'm scared of realizing that turning my mind off means it's utterly off, and there's nothing I'll remember, aside from a gaping black where I should be alive. I'm scared I'll never come back from that gaping oblivion. I'm scared my thoughts won't line up again. On the smallest level, I'm scared I won't be exactly the same person, though realistically knowing every moment we live changes those thoughts and reactions, and we're never perfectly the same person we were moments ago.
Ridiculous, that all sounds ridiculous, and I know I'm wrong, and I'm sure I'll be fine. Fear is a rather irrational creature.
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