Not being able to pinpoint why the sudden fascination with dying began when I turned 20, I’m left feeling very reflective and curious. I find it funny how when you’re younger it feels as though you could live forever; you can’t get past this present moment. Youth is all you know and all you can see. I miss my youthful gaze.

I know what you’re thinking. Kait, you are SO young, why the concern? Because, well, I’m not sure. That’s why I decided to write about it. Maybe you can provide me some insight or encouragement. Or not.

The events that led to the end of my youthful, eternal gaze are unclear. Everything seems almost pointless, but not, somehow. How is any deed we do matter? Our little lives and experiences absolutely pale in comparison to the fact that no one will ever even remember our name. Our favorite color, favorite book. Our lovers. We will go down as everyone else has in history. On the DHEC death list or whatever it is, being on another recorded death certificate. Another statistic. More paperwork for someone to enter and process.

I’m not trying to imply I’m numb to feeling and can’t have magical experiences anymore. It’s just more difficult and a battle. For instance, the sensation of being in love is finally coming back to me with full force after years of losing it. Mistaking it for desperation or masochism. Faking it to make others happy and whole. I met a boy.

And that’s all I’m going to say for now. I can’t have him read this and think I will only mention him in a post about death.

Sorry, G.

Anyhow, an example I will gladly insert in this post is my magical experience at the Benee concert I attended. Just to show that I can feel. I feel things HARSHLY. Which is why I think I usually don’t, like a defense mechanism.

The concert venue was located in Atlanta, GA. Begging all my friends to accompany me, none of them could fit it in their schedule on that rainy Friday night. I drove the 2 and a half, almost 3 hours alone. I had a hotel booked, however, they didn’t have my reservation in their system. On top of that, I hadn’t eaten since 1pm that day and it was now 5:15pm. Meet and Greet started at 6:00pm, so I had no time to stop anywhere except the concert after the fiasco with the Motel 6. Frustrated and starving, I headed to Variety Playhouse, where the concert would take place.

After battling traffic and paying to park, I ran over to the group of people standing outside of the playhouse. It started pouring rain. We all huddled underneath the foyer until they finally let us inside. I managed to group with a very kind couple who took me under their wing, knowing I had driven all that way alone. Finally, the clock struck 6:00. Heart racing out of my chest, I step inside to the room Benee herself was standing in. Stopping myself from breaking out into a sprint, I impatiently stand in line to wait. I tried not to stare at her but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Benee looked beautiful. You could practically feel the energy radiating off her.

When the time came to be my turn, I handed the photographer my phone and darted towards her, arms outstretched.

“Aw, you’re so cute!” She exclaims. I pour my heart out to her in about 10 seconds about how she has gotten me through every day the last 3 years and how much I loved her. I was surprised to hear her say she loved me back. She even wrote it in my little pink notebook, on top of the little designs she drew at my request to get tattooed.

Pure happiness and contentment flooded my person like a f*cking tsunami. The couple who were with me had our whole interaction on video. Ecstatic, I had to fight back the urge to hug their necks. Soon, the Meet and Greet was over and Benee retreated backstage. Before the rest of the crowd rushed in, we hurriedly found spots closest to the stage. I had luckily gotten a hold of some water to quench my unbearable thirst before the concert began.

After having conversed with the couple and an older man who wore a Benee jersey and hat, ranting and raving about his adoration for her, Dreamer Boy, Benee’s opener ran on stage. I won’t go into full detail about his hour with us, however, he put on an excellent performance.

The lights went down, the energy of the crowd screaming in anticipation for the moment when she finally waltzed out. Benee was so close you could literally reach out and touch her. Electric. I felt like I was on fire the whole performance. Being a brand new emotion I hadn’t felt before, I was perfectly content. As if everything I had ever been through fatefully brought me to that very moment. Seeing her, being with her made all my previous hardships worth it. Not to mention, how the last 3 years I’ve listened to her music came full circle. I can look back on what her music saved me from and I could then look up at her. Awestruck. God, I think I looked at her like I was in love. Benee isn’t just a musician for me, she’s a symbol of hope and contentment.

I managed to hold back tears until I heard the first few chords of If I Get To Meet You.

I f*cking lost it. My hands on my heart, I sobbed to the lyrics. Benee may not have known it, but that little song meant the entire universe to me. I have not ever been happier than in that moment.

You’ve probably had enough of me gushing over Benee and that night. However, I needed to tell you so I could provide further context into my all-consuming thoughts toward death.

Back to the melancholy.

I’m just trying to understand how others aren’t consumed with the inevitability of dying. Nothing we could possibly do will stop that. Powerless. Out of control. That’s how it makes me feel. Will my words even matter? My poems or my stories? How could they possibly hold up through time? I’m not saying I want to live forever. Or that I even want to be remembered. All I can do is hope there’s something that comes after all this. Whether that be reincarnation, heaven, hell, or maybe, my favorite theory: we lucid dream when we die and create entire worlds and scenarios to our liking.

Christians would try to claim that I just need Jesus to find purpose and not be scared of death. Been there, done that. All Jesus gave me, personally, was crippling anxiety and overly religious parents. If I’m wrong, I wish he would let me know. Alas, being terrified of death isn’t going to benefit me. It isn’t going to make me live my life sinless. If anything, I am going to hold on tighter to humanity and every single day I have. I’ll hold on to love and not run from it like I always do. Believe it or not, I find humans and our makeup more powerful and of higher importance than literally ANYTHING else. That’s my religion. We live and we die every day but that’s the thing.

We live.

I believe in humanity way more than I could ever put faith into a god or celestial being. All we have comes from within. We create and destroy ourselves. Day after day. You can say it’s because of god or jesus or whatever. In my experience, I have kept myself alive through every happening. Ever. I refuse to believe something has held my hand the last 20 years. It’s just me. I can’t have love without ME. I can’t wake up every morning without ME. I can’t make friends without ME. I can’t stay alive without ME. I can’t work my jobs without ME. Now say that to yourself, once, twice, however many times it takes for it to stick. Don’t even consider giving credit to the b*stard friend that helped you move that one time. The friend you “couldn’t live without.” How did you manage to make and keep that friend?

YOU.

You are your own cause and effect. It all begins and ends with you. Fate can’t happen without you. Your own purpose and path will not happen without you. We are all just energy. I may not have answers as to where we go after we die or what our purpose is while we are here, however, one thing I do know is..

It can’t happen without us.