Anxiety: "You aren't dying right"
Extremely bad news to all my anxiety friends! You're going to spend the whole time you're aware that you are dying (and I don't mean in the sense that death is the only birthright of any living thing, I mean in the active sense) worrying that you're doing it wrong, that maybe you should be spending more time tidying so that you can look like your holding together (which obviously has nothing to do with how much dust is on your bookshelf, but fuck does it feel like it should).
From the comments
James Petrosky: I think this is the unpleasant death subject I think about most. My sincere belief is that I made a todo list of mostly just weird junk to occupy time and give me enjoyment. But another valid interpretation is that it's an act, intended to fool me and everyone else, into thinking I'm processing things well, when really I'm so fucked that I can't even be honest about my own motivations.
I think I'm doing trips because I experience genuine joy from them, but I haven't figured out how to tell for sure.
James Petrosky: Tidying and cleaning is a really, really big one for me, because it's something I've always failed at. So, naturally, if I can keep my apartment in order, then I'm doing fine, and since it's a fucking disaster around here (asside from the litter box and toilet), I'm not fine. (Specifically do not want offers to help, holy shit the only way to make this worse is to have to admit I'm no longer capable of maintaining my space, even if it's true)
James Petrosky: My thoughts are very fragmented here, I should have probably let this one develop a little longer. But the take away is that there's no right way to die, there are probably wrong ways but if you aren't doing colonialism looking for the fountain of youth, you're probably okay.