Given the highly subjective nature of our personal experiences, it’s often necessary to use metaphor and analogy to describe the inner workings of my dysfunctional mind. An example of this is The Sword of Damocles, which I use to describe the near-perpetual sense of dread which permeates my thoughts. It’s a reference to the ancient parable of a fawning courtier who is given the chance to experience the king’s life for a day. He’s placed on the throne and afforded every luxury, but dangling over him is a huge sword, suspended by a single hair from a horse’s tail. As the heavy blade could fall at any time, the courtier is reminded of the constant peril the king faces. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Naturally, this extends to us all. Each of us faces the inevitability of death and most of us do our best to bury that thought deeply and live in a perpetual state of denial. Some philosophies and faiths encourage their followers to acknowledge our reality and embrace it, arguing that it allows us to better enjoy our lives by being mindful of how fleeting it is. I strongly identify with this opinion, but my neuroses regularly get the better of me and my thoughts go far beyond a simple memento mori and tend toward obsession.
Recently, a keen awareness of the pulse in my neck has been the focus of my fears, but the trigger changes frequently as does its degree of absurdity. My phone is filled with countless selfies I’ve taken while obsessing over an apparent asymmetry of my pupils. My long-suffering roommate has been asked to assess perceived lumps, swelling, skin color, temperature, and a whole host of other anatomical omens which have worried me over the years. I’ve occasionally been able to mark time by recalling what health concern was plaguing me at that moment.
Anxiety is fucking awesome because so often the stress it puts on your body manifests as physical symptoms. When I’m feeling particularly tense, I’ll have pain in my ribs, which I then perceive as chest pain. Now I’m worried about an imminent heart attack or perhaps a more chronic cardiovascular condition. Thus I become even more tense, which makes the pain worse. Fear intensifies. It’s a downward spiral. Ad nauseum. Ad absurdum. Ad fuckmylife.
It’s really hard to plan for the future when you’re convinced there isn’t going to be one for you. That might be the most insidious effect of The Sword of Damocles: this obsession with death causes you to waste the life you still have. I could drop dead this very moment, my last thoughts likely being how much my death is probably going to traumatize and inconvenience all the other patrons of this Starbucks. More than likely I’ll not die today, but does it really matter if I accomplish nothing between now and then because I’m too busy waiting for the blade to fall?
As mentioned, I do think there’s value in contemplating one’s death. I have an app on my phone called WeCroak which randomly sends reminders that you’re going to die along with a topical quote. It’s apparently based on a Bhutanese belief that thinking about death brings happiness. There’s also the Stoic practice of memento mori which is literally a reminder of our mortality. During a Roman triumph, the victorious commander would be draped in finery and paraded through the streets, basking in the adulation of the masses. Supposedly, he would be accompanied by a slave whose task was to repeat “memento mori” to him during the procession, lest he forget he is but a mortal man. I’m fully in favor of returning to this tradition during all awards ceremonies and celebrations, nothing wrong with a good dose of humility.
It may seem counterintuitive that thinking about death is my remedy for obsessing over death, but there is a “fight fire with fire” sort of logic here. Most of this fear stems from a desire for control. People are really bad at accepting their powerlessness. We like to believe we are in charge of our lives, but that’s mostly an illusion. (Honestly, I’m not sure I believe we have free will at all, but that’s a topic for another time.) I’m here now, and that’s not only all that matters, it’s the only way it can be. When I’m gone, I won’t be around to worry about it anymore. I’m fortunate enough right now that, were I to die, my pets would be taken care of by someone I trust. The rest of my meager affairs have been settled as well as can be expected and now the task of living my life is the only thing I need to worry about.
It’d be lovely if doing were as easy as saying, wouldn’t it?
