A letter to myself

Dear Mark,

I was not always quite sure, nor do I claim to truly be now, why I have always felt this great sadness. It appears that I know many of the causes but not any of the remedies. I feel quite frankly that there are no cures for this incredible affliction and no possible means of atonement for any wrong I may have done to deserve this burden.
At many points in my life, I have considered this great mind that I have been blessed with, to be exactly that, a blessing. But I am now finding myself quite troubled with this plaguing dilemma that has seeped its way into my psyche over the past decade. It is quite simply and plainly an immense fear of death, not necessarily in a physical sense, but more precisely, a conscious one.
I find it very difficult to live a life I know will someday end. This feeling has come to blanket all of my actions and has stemmed my motivation to the point that I am in a constant state of inaction.
What sense does it make to create if that creation is one day destined to fade just as your own mind and body may? The only thought that I hold in consolation is that by some great luck, or divine construction, our minds exist outside of the confines of this shell we inhabit, or, that I may find a means of indefinitely prolonging my experience. Yet, I find that possibility highly unlikely, and more so now, that I have grown out of, and have shed the ignorance and conditioning of my youth.
This letter, though I initially dreaded the thought of writing it, is as much for me as it is for you. More importantly, it is to document the beginning and end of the person currently writing it.
Somewhere within the construction of this letter I have ingested 10 mg of LSD, approximately 100 times the normal dosage, with the end goal of shattering my psyche and, hopefully, the great fortune of rebuilding it.
I hope for you not to fear for me, and I hope that you, having know me better than any other creature on earth, will experience this great journey with me at some point along where ever this path, that I choose willingly, leads me. Know that I have no fear for what is to come, and I hope you do not think less of me for taking this chance, though I’m sure you could not think any less, or more, of me then you already do.
I hope that my next meeting with you is in good health and of sound mind. My only hopes are to find some solace in a deeper understanding and to become a person of action in the dictation of my existence.
Thus, I will leave you with one last thought of contemplation before signing and sending this letter, which will arrive far too late for you to have any effect in the matters at hand.
Would you, know me, as you do, if I were not already a reflection of your own actions and philosophies? Are all perceptions solely based in a realization, or a realizing, of a perception of self?

Sincerely your dearest friend,

Lars Meadow

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