My husband is afraid of dying, so is my boyfriend and his other partner. My boyfriend's sister is also afraid of dying. The pandemic has only exacerbated that fear, and it's also revealed those who don't seem to value human life.
"It's funny and odd," I said to my boyfriend. "There are so many people I know who are afraid of dying, but I'm not. I've thought about dying before. If anything, I'm afraid of working."
Much like many other businesses, the pandemic has halted two of my streams of income. And unfortunately, they are my main streams of income. In May I had a week where I couldn't sleep, where days and nights became an anxious blur. The same thing happened at the beginning of June, and I honestly can't remember what my birthday was like.
My brain was on fire with business ideas. It felt like I had taken a cocktail of drugs and ideas for new businesses popped into my head on a daily basis. A few of these ideas I did try, but a lack of encouraging results caused me to abandon those ventures.
Our credit cards are maxed out. Every morning it's not my alarm that wakes me, but our creditors. I've applied for fiancial assistance and food stamps. I watch what happens in the federal government with the intensity of a starving hawk. Then, I am told that I will be getting a job.
An all too familiar gnawing and fearful sensation appears at the pit of my stomach. For years I relied on myself and my businesses to support me. That is all gone because of the pandemic. But now I will be getting a job that isn't classified as "self-employed." I might actually get a W-2 instead of filling out a million 1099's.
I am not afraid of death because it denotes an ending. Spoiler alert: I'm not religious, I flicker between agnostic and atheist.
The end is what I had welcomed during those blurry days of anxiety. Death would mean an end to worrying about bills, rent, car payments, food on the table, and even caring for others.
Work terrifies me more than death because of this simple equation.
Bad job = Hellish life
Put simply, I am afraid that the new job I am getting -- the one that I have no control over who my boss and my coworkers will be -- will turn my life into Hell. Life to me is not worth living if my work doesn't give me satisfaction, control, and some semblance of indivuality. If work becomes Hell, then I would rather welcome Death.
About the Creator
Zen Ip
I am a local journalist and I've decided to write about snapshots of my life and thoughts. Maybe others will find them thought provoking.
Keep reading
More stories from writers in Psyche and other communities.
Christmas is Not Always “Beer and Skittles”
If you find the holiday season challenging, you’re not alone. I have never been a big fan of Christmas. I have always found it a bit pretentious. It is a time for kids, really. I have not had kids in my life, so the "children's influence" around this time of year doesn’t occur.
By Calvin London21 days ago in Psyche
From Surviving to Living: When Rest Becomes an Act of Courage
When Survival Becomes a Lifestyle — And You Forget How to Live There is a quiet shift that happens when survival lasts too long. At first, it’s temporary. You tell yourself, “I just need to get through this phase.” Then weeks become months. Months become years. And without realizing it, survival stops being a response — it becomes a lifestyle. You don’t notice the moment it happens. There’s no clear breaking point. Just a gradual narrowing of life. Your goals become smaller. Your dreams become practical. Your emotions become controlled, managed, muted. You stop asking what brings you joy and start asking what is necessary. What is efficient. What is acceptable. And slowly, living turns into managing. The Hidden Cost of Constant Coping When someone lives in survival mode for too long, their nervous system adapts. It learns to stay alert. It learns to expect pressure. It learns that rest is risky and stillness is unsafe. So even when external threats disappear, the body doesn’t get the message. This is why many people feel exhausted without knowing why. Why calm moments feel uncomfortable. Why success doesn’t bring satisfaction. Why peace feels strangely empty. It’s not because something is missing. It’s because your system was never taught how to receive ease. You learned how to endure. Not how to enjoy. Why Letting Go Feels Harder Than Holding On Letting go sounds simple in theory. But for someone who survived by holding everything together, letting go feels like failure. You weren’t rewarded for resting. You were rewarded for coping. For staying strong. For not needing too much. So your identity formed around function, not feeling. This is why slowing down can trigger anxiety. Why saying “I can’t” feels shameful. Why doing less feels like becoming less. Your worth became linked to effort. And effort became constant. Healing Is Not Becoming Softer — It’s Becoming Safer Healing from long-term survival is not about becoming fragile. It’s about becoming safe. Safe enough to pause without panic. Safe enough to feel without rushing to fix. Safe enough to rest without preparing for collapse. This kind of healing doesn’t happen through motivation or discipline. It happens through permission. Permission to stop performing strength. Permission to disappoint expectations — including your own. Permission to exist without proving anything. At first, this feels unnatural. Because survival trained you to believe that safety must be earned. But safety is not earned. It is allowed. Relearning What Living Actually Feels Like Living is not dramatic. It doesn’t always feel exciting or intense. Sometimes, living feels quiet. Neutral. Ordinary. And for someone used to survival, that can feel unsettling. But calm is not emptiness. It is space. Space to notice yourself again. Space to feel preferences instead of obligations. Space to choose, not react. You don’t suddenly become a new person. You simply return to parts of yourself that were postponed. A Different Measure of Progress Progress is often measured by how much you do. How fast you move. How productive you appear. But healing progress looks different. It looks like stopping before burnout instead of after. Like resting before you collapse. Like saying “enough” without explaining yourself. It looks like choosing sustainability over intensity. Truth over performance. Presence over pressure. This kind of progress is quiet. And because it’s quiet, it’s often overlooked. But it is real. A Closing Truth If survival shaped you, it’s not your fault. You adapted the way you had to. But you are not meant to live your entire life in adaptation mode. You are allowed to soften without losing strength. To rest without guilt. To live without constantly preparing for impact. You don’t need to become more. You need to feel safe enough to be. And that shift — from surviving to living — is not weakness. It is the most honest form of courage there is.
By Med Abdeljabbara day ago in Psyche
FPS: The Last Flame Challenge Winners
Welcome to our first Winners Announcement of the year and to the final challenge in the Fall Poetry Series. The Last Flame invited writers to sit with endings, using fire as a central image to consider what remains when something burns out: ash, warmth, memory, silence, or the faint promise of what comes next. The strongest pieces treated endings as gradual rather than sudden, allowing them to flicker, dim, and linger.
By Vocal Curation Team5 days ago in Resources
Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smith4 days ago in Humor
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.