Consciousness can be a curse, I suppose. Humans are the only animals that are aware of their impending mortality. Today my son and I were discussing how in order to be a horror writer one has to be at least a bit obsessed with death. We discussed the reasons why some of our favorite writers might have become obsessed with the subject. For my own part I suppose it's initially born of fear of dying and wanting to basically take up a sword and duel with that fucker Death, make him give me a few answers about why he's such a bastard. The dichotomy is that because of the depressive cycle of my bipolar disorder I also struggle with suicide ideation a lot of the time. Conversely I try not to be a horribly negative person. Life is hard enough without people having to deal with some nay-saying gloombag always shooting down their hopes and aspirations.
