. . . and it's frankly overwhelming. It feels like a pit in my chest, and I can hardly think of anything else. What seems amazing at those moments, is that I'm ever able to go about happily not thinking about it, even as I know that this feeling will, as it always does, pass before long.
What's funny is that I vaguely remember this happening occasionally as a teenager and in college, but it feels like in the years since then, I've avoided it until the last few months. I'm not sure what that says about where I am in my life right now.
I remember though, from those times before, that the best way to get a hold of myself was to think through, and to try to put into words, what I was feeling. I think, in fact, that that was the original instance of a much more general pattern for me, that my worries somehow became less powerful if I fixed them as words. Once I can get myself thinking about my process of thinking about something, it distracts me from thinking and worrying about it. By turning my worries into objects of analysis, I gain distance from them.
This is surely an admirable tactic to break out of feeling overwhelmed by the idea of death, because as far as that goes the only option is to not think about it. But for other things, for worries about work and relationships, there is perhaps reason for concern, because it would be better to confront and respond to them, instead of merely finding a way to not worry about them.
This post, of course, is an instance of what it is describing . . . I think I'm getting dizzy from the reflexivity.
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