Death of a Millenial

Art by someone

It’s the first and last breath that hurts the most. The first one tells you that it’s about to start, again. The last one announces the end, the temporary end. It’s just a six hour break, a brief stop in the continuation of your life. You could just call it sleep, but as a millenial, you feel entitled to make typical daily activities your own.

As the alarm goes on, your mind plays all your fears and anxieties in less than 30 seconds. You don’t want to get up, but you have to start your normal day. The day you never wanted to have, yet you have to have because we cannot all be special.

You feel suffocated throughout the day, every moment is an opportunity to kill yourself. You feel guilty for having those thoughts, after all your life isn’t so bad, as they like to tell us. You have food and shelter; it’s your parents but at least you have a roof.

Yet, you keep recreating those moments of death every opportunity you have. While you drive you just vision yourself crashing into another car. The worst part is that in less than five seconds you even imagine your own funeral, with all your friends and family crying for you because you were so unique and special. Then, you go back to your reality because you cannot picture them continuing with their lives without you, maybe with a lot of pain and courage, but they will keep going, unlike you.

You cry a lot, in silence, wonder why is it so hard to fulfill your dreams. You don’t even know if you still have dreams. You start to lose hope in humanity, in our economic system- well, you actually never had, yet you forced yourself to believe in it, at least for a bit. You lose hope in yourself and torture yourself for once believing that you could do something different, that you could actually be special.

Then you hear about his death. You barely knew him, but he was like you. The only difference is that he actually had the courage to kill himself. You suddenly feel like a child who didn’t know that the game could end badly. It’s like those childhood memories when you were playing with your sister and your mom would tell you to stop playing because you were going to end up fighting. She was always right.

You imagine the whole scene since your imagination has never had a hard time recreating tragedies and you see his lifeless face, his soon-to-be decomposed body. What was his last thought? Did he know that he was actually going to die?

You cry, again. This time, however, the tears are real. These are no tears that carry the quintessential question: why is this happening to me? These ones carry the dissolution of your expectations, the abolition of your ego’s demands. These are the tears that come from your insides, these are the tears that finally bring you down to your knees.

You don’t want to die, you want to live so badly and that’s why everything hurts so much. You feel your essence and cling to it. You forget about your attitude, your daily complaints, your fixation with unhappiness and dissatisfaction. You want to breathe without pain, without the never ending devastation of your spirit. You forget about the job, the diplomas, the lifestyle, the partner, the travels…you just want to keep yourself alive. You take a breath, feel your body, and try to forget about the last breath, even the temporary one.