Death Is Never Bias

"Make not your thoughts your prisons"

-William Shakespeare

༻❁༺

iana's drive home consisted of her crying her poor eyes out and blasting the car radio on a random rock channel to mask her lamenting sobs and cries. Passers-by stared with vexation at her speeding vehicle. Evidently, they had not planned on listening to metal at 8 O'clock in the morning nor did they wish to be run over by a seemingly deranged woman. If truth be told, she herself deemed it a miracle that she had not gotten into an accident with the way she drove, she almost ran over a stray cat at one point through her drive.

Although, before she made it to her house, she had the sudden urge to stop by her favorite park, the one with the colorful ducks and big green pond. She always sat on the same woody bench. It wasn't the best bench in the park, in fact, it was the worst one she's ever seen, but to her, it was enough. littered with graffiti and chewed up gum, its strategic position made it so it gave her a great view of the big pond and that was all she wished for. The park was her favorite spot to visit when Jonathan wasn't home which, nowadays was more often than she liked to admit.

At that hour of day, the park was barren, apart from Diana there was an older gentleman with his walking cane feeding the birds crumbs of stale bread. The breeze was gentle and pleasant, the only notion of sound was brought about from the rustling leaves and the whistling of the wind as it racked through the dry branches.

Diana's mind ricocheted between low and lower. She had not wanted to believe that her time will soon come to an end. She kept repeating to herself platitudinal quotes she used to see all the time as a kid, she chanted them aloud much like a broken recorder. "The end is just the beginning" She idly whispered to herself and if someone were passing by at that moment they would think her mad with her hair and makeup a mess and her mumbling quotes to herself.

She watched as the ducks' dove under the surface of the water and came out as dry as before, water droplets sliding down their backs like liquid mercury. And just like the water off the ducks back she wished her problems would slide off hers too. She admired their glowing feathers and the shape of their beaks. She came to the park so frequently that she can almost distinguish each one from the other. She even gave most of them names. There was Unfortunate Donald, a dull brown one who seemed to be the runt of the litter, always eating the scraps and small crumbs left behind. Sissy Missy, who steals the other ducks share and always seems to pick a fight with any duck next to her. And as the cold season approached they were readying themselves to fly south where the climate would best suit them.

Much to her dismay, that night when she got back home, the house was empty. Apart from her always active dog, Nutmeg, the house was barren. It wasn't till a few hours into the night that her mind began to rot in her skull, she hated keeping secrets to herself, she was never good at it either. She would have to be very careful around Johnathan. She will have to try her hardest to keep it together for him. She didn't wish to worry him if her constant crying would not cease. She knew she will run out of excuses to tell him whenever he asked as to why her eyes were puffy and awash with tears.

She fervently paced her room, almost denting the carpet, her mind in a state of unease. She usually had no trouble avoiding her problems, she always found an empty volt for them in the back of her mind. However, that particular problem proved to be difficult to rebuke, most likely requiring a session of venting and ranting to forget. It was a big secret to keep, one which eats away at the fibers of the brain.

Riddled with vexation, she sat on the carpet and placed her head in her hands as a migraine began to throb in the back of her left eye. She looked around the room to calm her raging self, her eyes swept over the wooden vanity, she gazed at the contents it held; Creams, powders, and cosmetics. She moved on to the painting on the wall, atop the fireplace, she took in its' calming warm colors then swiftly moved on over Nutmegs' sleeping ball of fur until finally, her eyes skimmed over an old pink notebook with a little heart-shaped lock on the side. She admired it for a minute it took her a while to remember where it came from. She had found it in the attic a couple of days back when she was rumidging in one of the boxes for an old ornament, once she saw it she couldn't resist its cute bindings and pink fur.

With a full heavy heart, she decided to fill it up before she left. She stood up and grabbed it turning to the first blank page, she began to doodle. A little heart here and a skew star there. She sat back and admired her childish drawings. "Seriously" She muttered under her breath in exasperation being upset that she ruined the first page of the notebook with her silly stick figure drawings. She rolled her eyes, much like a child, and turned to the next page, with newfound confidence she wrote down the date and paused. "Am I seriously going to turn this into a diary?" She thought aloud, tapping her pen on the corner of the book. She huffed and shrugged her shoulders, dropping the tip of her pen on the page she let the words flow.

August 16th, 2017

I suppose I'm only writing this for the sake of my own sanity. Being quite aware of the fact that no soul will ever pay any heed to this little pink notebook of mine. In fact, it'll only be lost under the dust of years to come. Perhaps writing this will serve as a great distraction. Anything to rid my mind of the reality that I currently live. Not telling anyone of it has proven to be quite the task. It's difficult to keep something as toxic as that locked in the depth of my brain for so long. It has started to take a toll on me. I feel it gnawing at the fibers of my brain, ever-persistent like a chiming bell.

By chance, I've once come across an article in a magazine by a random professor that stated: "Writing down your angry or sad thoughts can cure those emotions away". Frankly, I merely just ignored it completely and rudely flipped to the next page, however at a point such as this, there is no harm in trying, at the very least I'm able to leave something behind after I'm gone. A distant reminder of my once uneventful existence. In the meantime, it may help lift a weight off my aching shoulders. If this did truly help then I shall continue scribbling down my feelings and what transpires with everything around me.

It has been a long couple of hours since I rudely left the doctors' office in a hurry. The look on his face was priceless. Though I must say, he did in fact attempt calling many, many times after my sudden departure, but of course, I didn't answer any of his calls. I thank God that he did not have Jonathan's number, after all, no one knew about that check-up nor the fact that I changed doctors.

I paid him no mind when he spoke, although I had heard him say it will start to hurt soon, more than it already did but I haven't felt anything in my stomach yet, it's been rather quiet, suspiciously so and I'm only assuming it's the silence before the hail storm that will commence soon. I'll do a good job of researching the matter on the Internet later. I can't go into it blindly.

There's just something very odd about knowing exactly when one will die, well, rather a rough estimate of the date and according to Doctor Stevenson, my expiration date is in five to six months. God, I feel like a milk carton that's going to go bad soon and is going to be thrown out. But not thinking about it really does help, I've always been the type of person to ignore my problems. Out of sight out of mind and currently, nothing about it is in my sight thus it's easier to ignore.

In situations like these I would always find my comfort in Jonathon's arms, it pains me that I can't go to him. I'm still adamant about not telling him though. Dear God, I can never bare tell him that I will be leaving him. I'm completely aware of the facts that he has the right to know yet I can't find it in my heart to tell him, not yet at least. All I want is for everything to be exactly like the way it is till death comes and knocks on my door. Or is that as selfish as my subconscious thinks it is? To silently say goodbye to those who mean the world to me and pretend that there's nothing consuming my insides.

I can still make this work. fake it till you make it! right? Or I guess in my case till I lose it.

We all gotta go someday I suppose. Some sooner then later, we must all return to our creator. Well, isn't that a fun little morbid rhyme. Funny how life works. It feels like only yesterday I was playing outside my grandparents' farm with my dolls. I would give anything just to relive those joyful days again.

All I wish for is to leave something behind, a piece of me so that maybe one day I will be remembered by. Is that selfish? to desperately want to leave a mark of my self behind? I just wish to not be forgotten, I don't think anybody does. Am I really that selfish? Or is it just my subconscious taunting me again? It's scary, I'm not going to lie. Death, such a grim and bitter word. It spares no one, no matter how young, good or innocent. It will inevitably be anyone's fate. I don't think I'm ready to face it, to face the unknown by myself.

It doesn't matter. I'm not there yet, I must simply enjoy what's left. I have to pretend for the sake of Jonathan and my own sanity. I could wast my time thinking "why me?" but there is no time to be wasted.

Jonathan will be home any moment now, I hope. He's been working so hard for the past couple of weeks, there were multiple times where he would stay at work late and go on long business trips. He is one of the most dedicated men when it comes to his work, and I respect him for that though I wish he was as dedicated when it came to me. I barely get any time with him anymore, it feels like I have to make an appointment just to talk to him. His work is swallowing him up whole, just like what my body is doing to itself.

I'm going to call him after this, tell him to come home and just be with me for once. I do miss him very much and sometimes I'm left wondering if he misses me as much I miss him because he just leaves in such a hurry in the mornings I barely have time to kiss him goodbye.

But alas I must go. I must feed Nutmeg or he will come and eat me instead.

-Diana Lewando

She closed the notebook and stared at it for a minute. "That was... refreshing" she smiled to herself, she felt lighter, as if those words she disposed of in the notebook were weighing down on her chest. Her dog scurried to and fro, barking to get her attention so she could at last feed him. She looked at him for a moment and frowned, she needed to hid that notebook from her husband, it would not be pretty if he found it. So she hid it in the only place she knew he would never look, under the gap of her vanity.

She poured Nutmeg food in his silver bowl, and hurriedly grabbed her cell phone, she was just so eager to call Johnathan and listen to his voice and ask him to come home now that she felt better. But, she made call after call yet with no use. "He must be in a meeting" She absentmindedly reassured herself as she stared at Nutmeg gobble up his food.