Will You Remember Me When I Die?

“I would rather die a meaningful death than to live a meaningless life.” – Corazon Aquino



Will you remember me when I die?
Have I left a big enough footprint on the world during my life that I will be remembered after I die?

This thought has overwhelmed me of late. I try to shake this unhealthy mentality. Try to focus on positive things and healthy thoughts. But my thought process keeps coming back to this question. Like a broken record stuck on a perpetual skip.

This simple fucking question that has kept me up at night.

Will anyone give a fuck if I die tomorrow?

The constant thought of death has been so ingrained in my psyche the past 45 years of my life that this thought process is as normal as breathing.




“The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.” – Mark Twain




Thinking about death is unsettling and morbid. Even more so for someone with a mental illness. If verbalizing these pervasive thoughts of death are misconstrued, then friends and family instantly question if their loved one is going to kill themselves.

It’s hard to live a life of a constant outlook of daily thoughts of death. No one who has a mental illness understands if tomorrow is going to be their last on this mortal coil. Death is an everyday battle for most of us. The pain can be too great to want to live another day.

I am reminded on a daily basis that death is just around the corner.

I look at the scars from self-injury on my legs. Some have faded, some are pronounced, others are but a distant memory. The emotional scars from self-loathing may have gone away, but the physical scars still remain.

I have to take pills in order to be a contributing member of society. My rules of conformity lie within one blue 4MG early release pill of Intuniv and one 200MG Lamical pill at night. This is my price of admission to this life. If I stop taking these pills, the chances of me dying by my own hand is exponentially greater.

Ironic isn’t it?

That these pervasive, constant reminders of death has forced me to live a hopeful, positive way of life.

But I’m not ready to die yet. I have so much more to do in life. So many more places to go, foods to eat, and people to meet and learn from.

“When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home.” – Tecumseh



I don’t want to die.
I want to live forever as everyone does.
But my time will come.
I don’t know how and I don’t know when.
But it will happen.

And when it does, I hope that just one person will remember me.

I hope that one person will remember that my mind was truly filled with PEACE, and my heart was filled with LOVE, that I dreamt of an universal UNITY, and it was RESPECT that I tried to show.

I hope that one person just one person will stand up for me at the time of my death and yell, “HE meant something to this world! This one eccentric, quirky man had a voice to share! His story is important!”

Will I be remembered when I die?
Will anyone give a fuck if I die tomorrow?

I don’t want to die.
I want to live forever as everyone does.
But my time will come.
I don’t know how and I don’t know when.
But it will happen.

And when it does, 
I hope that just one person will remember me.

I hope that one person is you.