In countless wellness articles, experts say you get the best sleep in complete darkness. It’s the best way to signal to your brain that it’s nighttime; time to shut out all stimulus for the deepest sleep possible.

Though I’m sure these scientists and researchers all know what’s up, I still can’t follow their advice. Complete darkness feels too close to what I imagine the nothingness of death feels like. Herein lies my problem with lightless nights.

This struggle has followed me from childhood into my late 20s. When I’m in total darkness before sleeping, I worry about how short life is compared to the eternity of death. About how long eternity is, despite not knowing if I’d even be conscious enough to notice.

I fret over how everything in my life—loved ones, friends, experiences, dreams, and even fears—pales in comparison to the void that awaits us all.

In my worst moments, I worry about the possibility of a soul or some form of consciousness after death. What if you are just aware of yourself, feeling nothing, with no stimulus—pure nothingness. Seconds could feel like hours, stretching eternity further. And it never stops because it’s forever. You take solace in memories for a while until you forget, and the dark is all you know, making you feel that everyone born is condemned to this hell of nothing.

At times, I think hell and burning forever would be a better deal than nothingness. I calm my mind by reasoning that being dead means feeling nothing, and nothing doesn’t feel like anything. As I’ve aged, this logic has worked better for me.

Once calm, I return to merely dreading my impending nothingness, often feeling genuinely sad for people who die very young, entering the void without even a single happy thought. I feel a sense of hopelessness, having been born too early before humanity figures out how to live forever. Even scrolling online just to look away from the void for a few minutes does little because as soon as the phone glare of cat videos and “kamotes wrecked compilation” turns off, I join the most irresponsible and unlucky riders in the dark that swallows me whole.

When I was younger, if I knew I was going to sleep in pitch black, I’d watch a horror movie before bed so ghosts would be my concern—fears of hands under my bed or gory figures in the dark hanging inches over my headboard. It guaranteed nightmares and I felt like a psycho watching Saw II for the 20th time on DVD, but it was much better than the void.

During brownouts or when sleeping somewhere without a night light, I reminisce about times during the day, especially under sunlight, when these worries never visit me. Life, people, sounds and light, all nice distractions for my brain from the eternal sentence it’s been condemned to as soon as it became conscious. I think about the time before I was alive and how I naturally have no memories of it. I imagine it must be the same for my PC each time I shut it down. It just goes black inside. 

I know this all sounds bleak, sad, and even silly to re-read now, seeming like I’m just stressing out about nothing. It’s even more absurd when you realize that if you quietly broke into my room wearing night vision goggles while I was going through this, you’d just see me in bed with my eyes wide open staring at the ceiling, silent and still, like a crazy person. Ridiculous. But, when it’s night, and there aren’t even street lamps or moonlight shining through my curtains, and for whatever reason, the lamp or nightlight is out, these fears grip my very being. So much so that the mornings after feel strange following my evening bouts with the void.

I think to some extent, this has shaped how I’ve lived my life. Deep in my mind, each moment, day, or interaction is a shining atom-sized drop in the ever-expanding universe-sized bucket, which is the void. Might as well wring that shit for all the highs and lows it can be.

Recently, it hasn’t been as bad. Connecting with some people deeply enough for them to share that they worry about the same things, and remembering that fact when I’m dreading the void, makes for a nice internal night light. It reminds me that I’m not alone, even in nothingness.

Still need that night light though.

Enzo “Enzyme” Villabroza is a senior digital analyst and brand planner for IXM Hakuhodo. He is now exploring the start-up scene after winning venture capital from Japan. He enjoys splicing Bulacan fireworks with other substances well within the legal limits of the FEO.