The Words I Never Said // A Collection of Essays

Letter #11 // Vitamin deficiency, nausea, and weakness; ill

Dear Friend,

Ever since you started appearing in my life, directly or indirectly, in your complete form or just in parts (this I can't know for now), I inevitably think about you more often, and more often my thoughts go into autopilot mode. However, in parallel my daily life spins in loops of an entirely different nature as well. I don't want to attribute all that fatigue, sleepiness, tremors, and absence of mind to your appearances, although they might have a role of some kind here. Most likely, this is some type of deficiency, perhaps of B vitamins, maybe iron too. I'll take some supplements, and then we'll see.

If these are in fact no more than physiological glitches, hopefully, a couple of pills will solve all my life's problems. Because to be frank, it's been especially difficult to think good about myself lately. A few days ago I had to tell the story of my life. I like doing such things since I like talking about myself in general. I was enjoying the process until the end. After that, with each moment, as the fragments of the conversation neatly settled into a tiny pile and the flared-up blaze of arrogance died down, a sticky feeling of nausea began ascending up my throat. It was the disgust of myself and my own life, the same life I have molded with my own hands. It's hard not to blame yourself when you realize you've been the vital factor in the breakdown of all friendships that flourished or failed, were joyful or toxic, were warm or nonchalant. It's difficult not to scourge yourself once you understand you'd pushed away and abandoned dozens of people who simply didn't meet your expectations. How can I not feel sick when this shaking loneliness which I've been learning to get used to for more than a year (or probably even longer than that, I just identified this feeling around a year ago) was simply the consequence of my own actions, the gift of all my life's work, the prize I earned with all this hard work? I've spent so long trying to figure out what's wrong with me. Could this really be a result of a long-term vitamin B deficiency? Oh dear, in this case, I might need a whole injection, not just a tiny pill.

 I can't live without seeing a hypothetical objective in front of me — the image of someone I'd like to be. Without knowing where I'm going, I can't move a muscle. But when my imagination creates the sculpture of that hypothetical objective using liquid gold, lifts it above the clouds of humanity, and lights it up with the halo of the sun, not by accident do I begin feeling like the biggest piece of trash in this planet, like a miserable bacterium in the depths of Mariana trench. How could I be learning to fly if my energy levels have fallen below sea level? I know precisely not only who I'd want to be or can be, but who I am inside, which is why this is all so frustrating; why am I so terrible at relaying the true me, why do I remain an empty shell, an enclosed palace with no gates, or a sticky, melting block of ice, reeking of egoism? It seems like I could wake up tomorrow morning and decide to become that golden statue, unfortunately, this energy lasts for a couple of hours at most, until my body stiffens, turns into stone, and I feel my brain gradually shutting down. Wait! Could this be because of the cold? It's been quite chilly, but the heating season hasn't started yet. I might have to wait for it and see...

When I told the story of my life back on Friday, I accidentally presented myself as "everybody's friend". But how is that possible if I actually spent my entire life in my own head, in complete isolation from the world, drowning in my subjective visions, unrealistic fantasies, and in the absolute oblivion that I also exist as a physical being, as an active participant in the lives of others, inevitably affecting everyone around me just never choosing how to do it, never choosing what kind of person to be? Right, I remember now: today my astrological cycle called "Powerful healing" has reached its peak. Oh well, I guess this next month will be all about healing. But does healing have to be painful? I mean, I know exactly what I need to heal — it's the tendons connecting me to humanity, the latter being not some philosophical abstraction, but real beings that exist physically, emotionally, and mentally. This healing doesn't require a lot of humans. A few will be enough, however, I'll mostly need some barely familiar, and thus "unsafe" people, those, whom I'd have to learn to love as people without overanalyzing them first and without expecting anything back. Perhaps this sounds crazy in a world where knowing how to love yourself is of foremost importance. I'm not going to argue against this idea. It's just that I must rise to the next stage where my self-love is so stable and indestructible that I don't have to fear toxicity, someone selfishly taking advantage of me, or being misunderstood anymore. This kind of caution may be effective while you're in the most sensitive stage of developing self-love, but later on, when you're steady enough, it becomes detrimental: I then end up running away from truly genuine people and potentially deep friendships. Perhaps this is what Flower Face meant by her song "Pisces Moon": here one loves without expecting anything back, one loves for the person they love, for the sake of love itself. 

So many things I want to do... but my arms just droop by my sides. They droop because what conventionally should interest me and give me joy only repels me. My shoulders sink down because time doesn't wait around and runs forward while I'm residing in my den and freaking healing. My body sags in despair because there are so many opportunities ahead that I wish to snatch swiftly, and that escape through my fingers even swifter. The real me, the one I'm so desperately trying to relay to the world, is already here but simultaneously so hard to obtain...

There is, however, one thing for which my energy never dies out. How terribly embarrassed I am, when even in my most insecure state, when the standards I raised for the future appear more elevated than Mount Everest, and when every moment is being so shamelessly and hopelessly wasted by me, I find the stupidest consolation in those signs and little details in which I saw you. "This irrationality is yet another reason to be disgusted by myself", I think as I dance in my room like a mad woman with the most psychotic smile on my face, ignoring how badly my head's spinning, likely from anemia. Eh, despite all that I did complete my to-do list for today. Exhausted and freezing, disappointed in myself, and listening to the same few songs over and over again for probably a week now, I'll likely go to sleep satisfied nevertheless. After all, if you take into consideration all the unfavorable circumstances — the vitamin deficiency, the unheated apartment, the depressing starvation for oxytocin — it's pretty clear I did everything I could today. I was my best possible version, however much that corresponded to the "real me".

I will end this sleepy muddle of my thoughts with the last psychological discovery that I made today. The truth is that for my adequate functioning, your arrival is a must. I'm not kidding. Remember Maslow's hierarchy of needs? The first level from the bottom has been standing strong for a while now. The second one has been freshly stabled. Yet the third one, after all these years of boundless wobbling, has completely collapsed. There is no foundation on which I could build esteem and self-actualization. I can't earnestly respect myself if, at every person I meet, I gaze like a hungry puppy, silently beginning for a hug, however pathetically that sounds. I can't create any work connections or friendships if like mad I constantly seek any clues of you in every new person I encounter. I can't reach for my dreams if every moment I dedicate to writing I spend roaming in hypothetical scenarios with nonexisting people who love me. So, not to rush you or anything, but I want to admit: I believe all of this is not a problem I can solve solo. Yeah, sure, I'll take some supplements and get better somewhat, but this will simply be a convenient prop for deeper healing. And to do the latter, I'll still be asking for your help.

I'll be waiting for you.

With love,

— Your friend.

(October 17th, 2022)