I am 57. I have a number of debilitating conditions, none of which are diagnosed as "terminal", two which will eventually be terminal (COPD Emphesema and UC with complications), either resulting in severe surgery, Cancers, or death, likely a long slow death.
I am told I could live another 20 years with these conditions, but my quality of life has reduced so far already it hardly feels like life. I have already had polups removed from my throat and Colon, which tested negative. My UC often manifests as an inflamatory response in my hands, which looks and feels like the arthritis a 90 year old might have. On these days I am not able to dress myself, make a coffee, or wipe my own *** adequately, as my hands dont work. My COPD is evidence that I quit smoking a day late and a dollar short. I have daily meds but not O2 yet.
In other words, the road leads downhill and ends inevitably in death.
Death does not disturb me in and of itself, although no one desires the dying process. However this long slow road of lessening abilities, lessening life and the ability to live life itself does.
As a young man I never expected to see 30. I was a hard charging young man, a soldier, and hiker, and I have lived a full life. I have been places and done things a lot of people only dream of. I have few regrets and many fond memories. I am not depressed. I never expected to see thirty, never mind near double that.
NOW my conundrum is as follows; "Why does it make sense to stick around, fight like the devil for less ability to function, perhaps send my loved ones into debt, to simply preserve this heartbeat?"
A part of my mind says "Why not take up Heroin, or Crack, or Meth?"
A part of my mind says "Why not find a way, NOW, to make my exit on my terms before things get so bad I cannot do so?"
A part of my mind says "Why should I burden my family and loved ones with final memories of me as a skeletal figure whithering away, a husk of the man they recall?"
THAT part of my mind wont be silenced, it wont STFU. In fact it keeps me awake nights when my illnesses brings me down, it comes around, warning me, maybe next time will be the time I become so ill those options or others of similar ilk just vanish, and my family is stuck with my whithering husk.
Part of me sees myself as an old inuit, who needs an iceberg to set myself out on, as I have no function any longer, no value. My family, due to emotions and Love, would never agree with such a notion and would become upset if I even shared such an idea. A therapist might say I was depressed, but I have been depressed before, and I am not depressed. I enjoiy the time I do have as best I can, but those times are whithering away, and my ability to enjoiy thongs, to do things is whithering on the vine.
SO I came here, to see if these thoughts are common; OR, as has been rather common in my life, if I am avent gaurde, outside the bubble of "Standard Issue".
SO, is this unusual? I honestly cannot see any good reason why I should burden my loved ones with my declining health. It seems to me the very same issue as the removal of a band aid, a slow peel, or the fast rip.