I carry around vitamins in my van. I’m sure this has compromised their integrity with temperature changes. I put them in the van in the dead of winter because it was the one place I knew I would remember to take them. Before the world went into lockdown my van was the place I spent most of my time.
I’ve cried a lot of tears in that van.
I can’t remember now what vitamins are still rolling around in my catch-all in the van. I had two I tried to take every day. They were supposed to help my emotional state. I bet one of them was a B Vitamin. Those always feel good to toss at problems.
I don’t remember when I stopped taking them. I remember sitting in school lines five mornings a week and taking those silly vitamins. I’m sure they helped. I’m still alive.
Those first two months felt like a fog. A strange clear fog. I wanted those months to feel different. I wanted to be wrong. I wanted the world to crash in and say, “You were wrong, see the things falling apart now? See the missing in your heart?” Instead, it all felt the same. The day to day didn’t change. My heart hurt for a life I missed but never had.
“You should take that vitamin again, the one that starts with an M.”
“She said I should start taking magnesium again, stupid head. I’ve been drinking water, I don’t know why the head hurts again.”
“Stress. You’re stressed.”
“Found the magnesium. Shit. Expired.”
“Meh. It’s a suggestion.”
I try to heed my friends and family. I’m back to taking some vitamins.
There is something about driving in that vehicle, my mind opens, clears, I see things differently. It can open the tears in a way other spaces don’t. I suppose that is why it is my safe place. My safe place to sit, locked in, crying the tears that desperately need to be freed.
The song, ‘How He Loves’ by Crowder is playing. I listened to this song on repeat in my van last year. Forcing myself to know I was someone’s prize. I once said, “You broke my heart and continue to break it.” they replied, “I didn’t think you cared enough for me to break your heart.” It showed me how vastly different experiences can be, the same, separated by a chasm of neglect.