Thoughts on being torn apart by wild animals

It's been two years since I last posted. On August 10, 2015 I was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease (PD).

I was reading articles on dealing with PD while riding an exercise bike and listening to The Man Who Sold the World: “A chance to die to turn to mold.”

There is advice on planning for your impending decrepitude. Best case I only have 20 to 30 years. I might be helpless as young as 80 something. Okay, that's not so bad.

At 15 I thought I didn't want to live past 30. In the month before my thirtieth birthday I found a new job and moved into a new house. Now at more than twice that age I'm glad I lived. BTW, my first wife was not worried about me killing myself. She just assumed that I would go to bed on August 7, 1983 and not wake up.

As I read about all the directives and planning I need to do I again return to the dreams of my youth. Well, actually I've talked to my boys about this before.

I've always had a soft spot in my heart for nature. I know I'm in trouble when I start to feel separate from nature. A friend noticed that since I started treatment I am easily distracted by birds flying by. In my youth I loved to watch birds.

Again in my teens I dreamt of being buried in a simple pine box to decay and molder back into the earth. My favorite dream was being buried at sea in the Laguna Madre, food for my early arch enemies: hardheads and crabs. But perhaps my favorite and most bizarre dream was that near the end I would go into the wild to be torn apart and eaten by wild animals: pumas, coyotes, bobcats, &c. and finally my great love, vultures.

As I go through these thoughts I begin to wonder about my mental state. I read the following on the National Parkinson Foundation Web Site under “What Are the Treatment Options for Psychosis?”

“ The clinician must determine if the psychotic symptoms are related to medication side effects, dementia or delirium.”

So where do I really stand mentally. Some may think wanting to be torn apart and eaten by wild animals might be a bit on the psychotic side, but I thought it through.

Given the number of medications I take it would be an act of cruelty to allow a poor beastie to eat me. It would also poison the earth to decay in a pine box. I suppose the only sane thing is to ask for cremation at a place familiar with disposal of hazardous materials.

TTFN