A Companion Reflection to Rage Against the Spirit That Wants to Fade into the Night
The Dread of Knowing and Seeing the End
I can talk about raging against rules and expectations that don’t fit me; I can build whatever I can to have proof that I lived : through my blog, my little artifacts such as my stickers, my hoodie, my manifestos, newsletters, my mini ebook, and my business cards I’m making because why not?
But when everything slows down, when the world grows quiet and the noise outside fades just enough for the noise inside to take over, I start to feel that fear again.
Truthfully, I’m afraid of the finality of the night — that curtain call that says, “you’re done” for good.
No do-overs. No begging or bargaining for more time. Just the stillness that comes after a life that tried its best.
And that terrifies me.
I can’t stop the clock from marching forward any more than I can stop the next sunrise. Every word I write, every post I publish, every idea I turn into something tangible — it’s my way of buying back the borrowed time I’ve got.
I’m not trying to outrun death; I’m just trying to make my life mean something before it finds me.
My Physical and Visceral Reminder
This morning, I woke up in pain. My chest felt like it was caving in, as though someone had kicked me hard and left their mark behind. The kind of pain that forces you to remember you have a body — and that the body has limits. I almost called in sick, that was how much pain I was in. I almost didn’t want to get out of bed.
But I did, because I had to start moving and the day didn’t start long enough to be done with me yet.
And maybe that’s the strange blessing in it — the pain reminded me that I’m still here, suspended between being alive and the inevitable.
It’s both horrifying and grounding.
What unsettles me more is how many people seem fine with this march toward nothing. How easily they sleep while the world keeps collapsing in slow motion.
Maybe ignorance really is bliss. Maybe I just see too much. Or maybe my rage and overactive mind are reinforcing what I value over the usual socials scripts.
My mind won’t stop mapping every small end to the larger one — every silence, every ache, every undone thing that might’ve been enough, if only there was more time.
But time is finite for us mortal things, suspended in space. So, I’m still doing what I can to reduce the amount of regrets I’ll have at the end of my life.
I’m still learning to accept: fear doesn’t mean failure. It’s proof that I still care enough to stay awake while everyone else sleeps.
Maybe that’s what living is — not escaping the night, but refusing to let it take everything with it.
Reflection for Readers
If anything I said this early dawn resonates with you — if you’ve ever felt the same dread settle in your chest when the world goes quiet — then maybe you’re not alone in it. Maybe you’re just human, still trying to make sense of the noise.
If this reflection spoke to you, consider liking, sharing, or subscribing to The Stratagem’s Archive. It helps this small, growing corner of the internet reach others who rage against the quiet too — the ones who build, create, and keep searching for meaning even when the night feels final.
Other Reflections
- Rage Against the Spirit That Wants to Fade into the Night
- The Courage to Start: Doing Something Uncomfortable Before It’s Too Late
- Thoughts From the Trunk of My Car—Again
