The world is ending.
How many times have we heard that? The world is ending. Every civilization, every religion, has predicted Judgement Day, Doomsday, what have you. We sit and stare at these ancient texts, searching for a timer or date or reason and each prediction is wrong so we start over again.
The world is ending. The sky is falling. The end is nigh. I'm just another street preacher with a sign that you ignore on your way to work. I don't have proof. I don't have a sacred book. I don't have a legion of followers backing me up. But I know the world is ending, just as I know how to breath. When I realized this, it was terrifying. Religion is a rather touchy subject, so I will leave out what I do or don't believe in, but whatever it was wasn't enough.
I was scared, and if you believe me, you're scared too. I was filled with uncertainty and doubt and the thought of everything being gone got to be too much. I took razors to me skin and bled. This would be on my terms, not God's or global warming's. I laid there, thinking I was dying, I realized I always had been. Everything I hated about my life flooded me, further cementing that I was doing the right thing. And for the first time, I knew it was okay, because anyone left to mourn me would be dead soon enough.
It dawned on me that that concept didn't apply to just suicide. Every fantasy I ever had could come true. There was nothing stopping me. Soon enough, none of it would matter. This isn't something terrible, something to wish away. This is beautiful. The world ending is the best thing to ever happen to any of us. We can live our lives how we always wanted. None of it matters to anyone but ourselves.
