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I awoke early again as soon as the light started showing up in my room. I managed to go back to sleep and arose at 6:30. I have been very flat and not been able to figure out why. My vim is not there, and I find it hard to raise any enthusiasm for anything. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Then, in the middle of the night, in the liminal zone, I realised that I am grieving. I am grieving the loss of my dear aunt Helle, who died last Thursday.

I realise that I am a slow feeler; things take time to land, and when they do, it is often without drama, just a slow feeling into the situation and experience, no wailing or gnashing teeth. It’s a sinking down into the pain of loss. I am deeply saddened by her passing and have yet to write to my cousins. I am crap at written condolences and become completely tongue-tied and frozen in what words to use.

Having lost Mum and Dad last year, I realise that grief follows its own unique path for each individual. There is no specific way it manifests, so it manifests in 7 billion different ways, the same number as the people alive on this planet. It was a horrific ending for her, as it was for my parents, but worse for Helle as the institution, and that is surely what it was, appeared like something from out of “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” – even worse, actually. How we relegate our dear ones to such atrocious circumstances when they are at their most vulnerable beggars belief.

I will not die like that. I will take plant poisons to end my life and be stocked up with them in case I am unable to gather and take my own life. Even more, my book idea of herbal euthanasia is important to write, and fuck any controversy over it being published. If I know anything about the state and do-gooder cunts, it will have them wailing in the streets in outrage that an upstart should claim volition over their own life, instead of handing it lock, stock, and barrel to a fucking bureaucrat. Our body and mind are wholly our own to do with as we please. Rue the day someone claims otherwise, and the wrath of the anarchic gods of chaos shall rain down upon their heads with fire and pain of a magnitude these idiots can barely imagine.

And so I sit here, quietly sad and melancholic, knowing that only Nick, Ken, and Vera are left before I too face my death. Having meant to be dead twice, it doesn’t appear to be too uncomfortable. Instead, there is just a quiet acceptance that all organic matter breaks down and decomposes in the great spiral of life.