As I lay here, weak and alone, I often ask myself, “Will I die alone?”
While conversing with my social worker and remembering the times I mistreated my nurse, I share with her my feelings and I wonder at times if I live with a self-imposed curse.
Have I cheated death? Some say I have. Shit! I know I have! Without discrimination, whether we are dead poor or full of wealth, death arrives to all without giving this consideration.
Did cheating death give me life or simply prolong my pain? As I ask myself this question, I look around to see what I held onto from all that I did for my personal gain. I see nothing but I do feel pain.
My room is empty. My walls look strange for I have no more photos to rearrange. Like my room, my heart feels empty. With every beat, it reminds me that it is still healthy.
The need to love and to be loved keeps me on the move, knocking on doors which I have previously and personally closed. As I knock on these doors, I once again ask myself “Is this curse self-imposed?”
Unable to find answers, I continue to wonder if my fear is because my death is near. Although I once felt like a king, commanding from his throne, I now feel helpless, wondering if I will die alone.