September 21st, 2006. The day my life changed forever. The day I became so afraid of death, I began fearing life itself.

Life was always simple in my eyes. I was an only child, in a generally happy family. The only worries I had in life were that of an average kid. As a child, I grew up in our family home in Cape Town, South Africa in a quiet suburb close to the city. Life was good, my parents were both employed with decent jobs, and I went to a model C school close to home. I was a very simple child, easily pleased and well behaved. It must’ve been the way I was brought up.

My parents originally met when my mother left South Africa to study in the United Kingdom. Years later they married and had me. I remember mother telling me that life was a little too gloomy and cramped that side of the world, so that’s when they decided to move to South Africa. Yearly we would travel back to the UK to visit my grandparents, we’d often stay a week or two during the holidays and then travel back before the start of my new school year.

September the 18th, 2006. A few months after my 16th birthday. I was in grade 10 at the time. This was the day I left on a school camping trip. Being away from home and my parents were nothing new though, I always saw myself as a dependent teenager, and always tried to do as much as I could myself, before asking my parents for help. Which in my opinion was a good character trait I had picked up at a young age, and in total, possibly one of my greatest strengths I had, that I would need for the tough times to come.

I remember waking up on the 21st of September 2006 as if it were only yesterday. I packed my things, went to the main hall with my classmates and had breakfast. It was now time to leave, so we boarded the bus and off we went. The drive was around two hours if I remember correctly. We sang along to songs on the bus and gossiped as girls my age did. However, I was never much like the other girls, all socially centred and girly, worried about trends and the latest fashions. I realised then that life was about more than just the fads that society made it out to be.

What I remember the most about that drive back to school was my excitement to get home. Not really to see my parents, although I missed them quite a bit, mainly to get home and fill in the interesting happenings of the past weekend in my diary.

On arrival at the school, I remember seeing two police vehicles in the parking area of the school grounds, and outside stood the principle and my class teacher, speaking to two police officers and a lady dressed quite formally. A terrible feeling came over me. I remember it so well it’s as if the feeling has never left me.

I climbed out the bus, and my teacher walked over to greet us. She then asked to speak to me in the principal’s office. An odd feeling of gloom fell over me, even though at the time I had no idea the news that was soon to come. I followed towards the principal’s office, and not far behind followed the two policemen and the well-dressed lady.

We entered the office, and I was asked to have a seat. I sat down and looked at my principal. He had a sad sort of look on his face. I wasn’t too sure what to make of it, but a minute or two later it all made sense. He started by saying that there had been an accident and that an electrical issue started a fire in my house earlier that morning. I didn’t know what he meant. He continued, “Your parents were caught in the fire, by the time help arrived it was too late. I’m sorry for your loss Sarah”.

I didn’t believe it at first, I looked around the room at the others that stood close, and all their expressions were the same. Full of sadness and pity. I began to break down in tears. I had no idea what to think. Where do I go? Where have my parents gone? What will happen to me? Is this even real?

Unfortunately, it was real, all too real. My teacher comforted me as I cried. They took me to the sick bay and left me to myself for a few minutes. A knock at the door came, the well-dressed lady, who I now knew as Mrs May, entered. She was a social worker. She sat down and told me that she knew what I was going through and how I felt. She reassured me that everything would be okay, maybe not right now, but that it would be eventually. But how could it? How is anything fine after losing both your parents, your home, and 

everything you know?

The sadness eventually became tolerable and slowly started to fade, and what filled its place was an anger I had never felt before. Anger against myself, everyone around me, and even against my parents. How could they leave me behind? Why wasn’t anyone there to help them? Why wasn’t I there? I could’ve helped.

For weeks I sat and cried myself to sleep, my sadness still present, and my anger for the world growing even stronger. At this stage, I was placed in an orphanage with a few other girls more or less my age. Being in a new place didn’t help, all I longed for was home and my parents. But that was no more, nothing but ashes remained.

A few months later after my seventeenth birthday, I was placed into a foster home. It wasn’t home, but it was better than the orphanage. I felt myself slowly changing, I began to lose the ability to see the happiness and to be positive. I became rebellious in a way, I didn’t feel like I fitted society’s perception of normal. I felt out of place. I didn’t feel the need to have friends or to speak to people. Or to conform to their ideas of “normal”.

Another year passed. My sorrow slowly subsided, but I missed them more than ever. At the age of eighteen, I felt more lost than ever before, the time I needed them most for guidance. But by this point, I had learnt to deal with whatever crossed my path. Even if it meant I needed to block everything out. I found peace in reading. Mainly murder novels, or thrillers. I felt they were comforting in some strange way. Later I took an interest in old murder stories, autopsy reports, and write-ups on famous murderers and their victims.

That’s probably when I found an interest in my future career. Forensic science. Death began to fascinate me, and as time passed the living drifted further from my interest. I didn’t feel the need to know many people or to have many friends. I preferred to keep to myself, it was better that way. Looking back now, I realise that back then I was just scared of losing another that I cared about. I wasn’t ready for that. So I did what I did best, kept to myself, and found refuge in the pages of the books that took my mind elsewhere.

The longer I spent alone, the more I began to question life, and what it was about. Why are we here? Why do we live? Just to find a career, build bonds and only to lose everything one by one slowly and painfully. People we care about, our youth, our happiness, everything. Was this really what life was all about? And if so, how are people fine with it? Living just to die. It all felt like a lie to me.

I moved out of my foster home about a few years later and started a part-time job to pay for the remainder of studies. Forensic science became one of my main interests. I learnt to deal with the world, its rules and the cruel society we lived in. I didn’t accept it, but I dealt with it as well as I could, to maintain a comfortable life. I was still the same person, not bothered by the world of the living but more fascinated by the lives of those who no longer had life left in them. I preferred it that way.

Every day I’d think back on September 21st, 2006, that painful day. I missed what I once called home, the place that gave me a sense of peace before I came to know the cruelty of this world. But that was in the past, and all I could do about it was reminisce on the good memories I once had. Death is a funny thing, we live all our life in fear of dying, and in the end, we basically just become afraid of living. This all became very clear to me presently a few weeks after my 25th birthday. By this point, I more or less had my life in order. Or so I thought. I clocked off work late one evening, this was nothing new. Work was a dominant part of my life because I didn’t have much of a life outside of work.

I exited the building and walked towards my car on the other side of the road. I looked left, and then right as the robot changed red, I stepped off the pavement and began crossing the road. I looked down at my phone as it began to buzz. At that exact moment I felt the same gloomy feeling I had once felt the morning of my parent’s accident, I stopped and looked up. As I did, a car came speeding past, swerving to miss me by centimetres. You know that expression, “My life just flashed before my eyes”? That’s exactly what had just happened. The only issue was I didn’t have much of a life to flash by, I didn’t have good memories with family and friends, or great achievements that would ensure my name stayed in the minds of a few people in the future.

At that very moment, I understood. Life is uncertain, which I didn’t like. Only I should be in control of my life, including how I live it, and when I die. Although at this point that wasn’t the case. I wasn’t in control. That’s the only reason we fear death, is that not true? Because it’s unknown, and as humans, we like being in control right? So what was I to do about it? I needed to turn the unknown into the known, but making my own rules, and living my life based on when I choose to die.

Weird right? At first, I thought I was going crazy, I mean come on, it was close, but I didn’t die, right? That’s the thing, at that moment I didn’t realise that I actually did die. I died inside. I lost the will to live. I feared death, as we all did. I was part of the masses, I didn’t want to be fearful. Only I should be able to decide when to die, instead of just letting everything slip away when someone decides to take a gamble with a life that isn’t theirs.

I got home that evening still shaken up and slightly weak at the knees. I sat down and calmed myself. I then put a lot of thought into what it was that I decided. If I feared death, which I clearly did, it was probably because I had nothing to show for my life or no one to miss me when I’m gone. Then I should obviously try to avoid death until I had something to show for it, or until I thought I was ready to leave. So that became my plan from that day on. I went to bed that night with a feeling of uncertainty, it ate at my conscience. I was so used to just living my life day to day, just blanking out the majority of everything that didn’t benefit or appeal to me in any way.

I had to make up my mind and be decisive about exactly what it was that I had decided to do. So the following morning, I woke up, lit a cig and grabbed my journal. Writing out the task at hand always seemed to help me wrap my head around things. A mental plan laid out on paper. It just made more sense.

I started with my fear. Death. Where did this fear come from? So I did some research and found out that people who have lost loved ones or had a near death experience are more likely to have a fear death or “Thanatophobia”. Ok, so that’s kind of obvious. With my luck, I just so happen to have gone through both. It didn’t help much that I hated the way society forces us to live. I wanted to live my life how I wanted. I wanted control. And the fact that I lacked control over when, where and how I might die, frightened me.

I needed a full proof plan, the perfect solution to gain control over my life. The research didn’t help much in this aspect. Everything just seemed to boil down to planning. Planning is key, so planning must be my solution. I would plan exactly how I lived, down to every detail to determine exactly where I would die. How would I do this? I had no idea just then. It took many hours of alone time (not that I had much company or any interruptions), and a lot more hours of thought.

I came to my final conclusion. I would write a rule book for myself. With specific sets of rules to ensure I lived life how I wanted, and to avoid death until I was ready. I picked a date for the end of my life, a very specific date. I also drew up a personal contract with myself agreeing to the date I had chosen. I then decided on how this would all end. In some messed up way, this all excited me. I was in control! I held the power over my life. I prepared a death certificate for myself, something similar to an autopsy report. Kind of ironic, yet humorous in my mind. Since I knew the pre-planned specifics of my death, this proved simple.

Next, I had to make the rules I would need to ensure my life went as planned. Don’t get me wrong, none of this was easy. It didn’t happen overnight. But I felt driven in some way though. It was as if I were writing my own twisted murder novel. I latched onto the idea of being in control. Cheating both death and life, and denying them control until I saw fit. Unfortunately, it was all just a matter of time, I’m not immortal, unfortunately. Our lives might seem long, but in the timeline of time itself, earth as barely been around for long. Our lives are so short they almost seem pitiful and meaningless. But that’s more reason for us to make something of ourselves before the end, that’s what I think.

The rules I made for myself would ensure I lived life as safe as I could, so I would be able to live the remainder of my life as comfortable as possible before I was ready to leave. I began by planning backwards from the day I died to the present. With certain goals and milestones, I needed to meet before I could call my life well lived. Since seeing into the future wasn’t a strength of mine I found this challenging. It took some time and I added to it now and then, but I now had a rough planning of what my life would be like for the next few years. This was comforting, I felt reassured and protected.

The next step was ensuring how not to die. I needed to avoid death or any dangerous situations at all costs. You’d be surprised how many deaths could have been avoided. Stupidity seemed to be a bigger killer than aids. So that was my start. A list of things I needed to avoid or do to better my chances of surviving.

I split this up into 4 main sections to simply things, with each section containing its own set of rules and guidelines.

Be Smart:

This had to do with the way I thought in general. Like the way, I saw the outside world and dealing with everyday things. I needed to be smart. I needed to over think every situation and decision I made. I had to be completely aware and capable at all times. In order to do this, I had rules that would ensure I drank less and was always in control.

This was a big change for me, but it was necessary. I had to monitor my general health and well-being regularly. I went for regular full-body checkups. I made sure everything around me was clean and hygienic including myself. I had to also now monitor what I ate, and I needed to exercise regularly, which didn’t happen too often. I also avoided too much contact with other people, to avoid anything contagious, and general germs. Anything that was a possible health risk in any way was avoided.

This had to do with everyday life. We don’t always realise it but death is so easy to come by, you can lose your life in an instant if you aren’t careful. I had to be careful of where I went, the way I travelled, driving on certain roads, times of the day. Everything. But it made sense to me. Bad choices often lead to death. So I made only well thought out choices. I didn’t take many risks, why put your life at risk. I decided to go for self-defence lessons, just to be sure. Safe proofing my house was also a must. I had all the electrics checked, I wouldn’t want to die in a fire. I also removed all dangerous objects in my path, like sharp edges and slippery surfaces.

They say happy people live longer, and that laughter is the best medicine, which is true in some ways. The well-being of your body has a lot to do with the state of your mind. For example when you’re stressed it’s possible that you may weaken your immune system. Therefore mental health plays a big part on your general health. I made guidelines to help me stay focused and happy. I might not be the most positive, outgoing, normal person out there but I still found joy in some things, and that is what's important in life. I needed to set goals for myself, for personal growth and my self-confidence. I needed to do more things in general that would keep me happy and make life more enjoyable.

This was just the start to the ever-growing set of rules and guild lines I had for myself. After a while, it became some sort of habit. I began to build routines and changed the way I would have normally done things. Like which routes I’d take while driving home or the places I bought food from. It became a bit extreme. I wouldn’t leave my house at certain times of the day, and I would avoid certain types of places altogether. I became obsessive with the way I started living my life.

This wasn’t healthy but I didn’t know that. I was living my life how I wanted, and I was in control but I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t really living. Yes in my mind this is how I wanted to live, but in the end being afraid of death, stopped me from really living. My fear took away my will to live.

In the end, we all want control. But it’s easy to lose track of your direction when you blinded by fear and driven by habit. Is life really life if you aren’t truly living? I feared death to such a point that I began to fear life itself, ultimately losing my will to live.

I'm obsessed.

I'm obsessed.

I'm obsessed.

I'm obsessed.

I'm obsessed.

I'm obsessed.

Completely obsessed.