Dear Ellen

I miss you so much.

The more I enhance your existence by merely sinking into your architectural dimension (, which I created for you), the more alive I feel. If only I had more time. I know this sentiment is mutual, but you are holier than I ever will be, more intelligent, more reserved. And since I’ve been reluctantly taking steps into madness pretty much every day, I am ashamed that you have to witness this. I am aware that there is nothing that I can hide from you, especially when the nimbus has arrived before my chance to hide, before I even realise that something’s wrong. It’s not difficult to find me and yet I wonder why he hasn’t found me by now. Maybe you could leave him a trail for me?

The veins in my palms and fingers have turned purple from holding on to the strings of control. The marionette has gained a lot of weight from consuming too much guilt and shame. You see, this is why plants die on me. They, too, can sense these things.  However, I’ve been teaching him the dance of solitude just to give him some exercise. But apparently the energy that I transmit through the strings makes him want to cry. I guess you’d be a better teacher than I. I’m no master of disguise and you know that.

Aren’t you tired of people moaning about the cold? There is so much heat that we could inflict on them. We could cause their blood to boil and then watch them shake in despair. I would like that. Everyone who deserves it.

I envy you for your fortune to pursue an occupation that aids in self completion. You have worked hard…but…so have I. For seventeen years I have been eagerly working towards what I want. The path is too long and more obstacles have occurred. The rest of the path remains obscure. Recently the impediments have been demoralizing and undermining my ability to control the strings. I know I shouldn’t let them. But you know me.
I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you. I know it’s me who showed you that self completion doesn’t exist, at least not in the way that we think. In the end I just wanted you to be successful in what you’re passionate about. However, I am sorry I did not grant you fulfilment. Believe me, if guilt had wings, I’d fly off right this very moment. Fulfilment is not meant for anyone. Not you. Not me. Not them.

So what else has been happening in your life? Is being a heart surgeon merely like being a general surgeon? Unbelievable how little I know about your occupation and yet, I can heal as many hearts as you can, except our dirty ones. Not quite fair, if you think about it.
Why do you call the thorax the gate to the heart? You’ve never been a kitschy type, but ever since Mr. Whitley’s operation you have changed somewhat. What happened to you? Don’t tell me you’re in love with him?! Come on, he has a girlfriend (who has had a buttocks augmentation). Besides, he is old enough to be your grandfather. Don’t let him throw you off balance and mess with your head. Don’t get involved with a feeling that’s foreign to you. You know who you are, right?

And beware of Stuart’s mind games. I know you are cautious, but he mustn’t win control over you. But to be honest I wouldn’t be surprised if my words fall on deaf ears. I know what’s going on. Sometimes we ask ourselves how deep we should let a person touch us. Let their fingers glide along the surface of our skin or let them dig into our flesh? The first one sounds better to me, however, I know you like both variants, as long as a sharp object is involved. You’re doing a great deal of secret keeping, but the people out there are empathising with you, which, for me is a job well done. Unlike me, you never admit anything. Still, I’m glad we have so much in common.
So you are making good friends with Sarah, I believe? Doesn’t she hide patients’ biopsy specimens and eats them? She might be a good friend to make, you never know.
I wish I’d meet people like that. I currently don’t trust the people around me. Just like I shouldn’t have let my friend (?) touch my laptop while still signed in on various platforms. So she saw I was on Facebook and simply clicked on my Close Friends- list, saying “You’d better have me in that list.” It was too late to say “Don’t”. So she clicked on it and all she found was an empty list. And when you explain that you only categorise people that mean nothing to you, she doesn’t understand. Why the world needs so much explanation, I never will understand. Trying to understand the opaque reality dimension is difficult enough, not to mention, the point of talking, getting married, buying houses, etc.

I have once let apathy suck me up and I became devoid of any drastic reactions. You feel content for a while and then you realise this is not the right state to dwell in for a long period of time, as it consumes all your sensitivity and reason. The distinction between right and wrong becomes irrelevant. So you begin to watch other people. You notice that wrong seems to upset them and suddenly you cannot fight the itch to intensify the wrong. You know exactly what I mean, do not pretend you don’t. Now is the first time that I no longer worry about it. Just watch the people and you will know what to do.

The anaesthetic from last time has had a huge effect on me, from throwing up to the realisation that numbness is the kind of medication that strengthens the survival instinct. So far all I need I can imagine. I believe. I hope. I create. If I ever get bored, I borrow their pain without giving a shit.
I know you’re the same as me. But we’re not allowed to show.

When you operate do you ever wonder what it’d be like chewing on that heart? I know you get these thoughts when you’re eating lunch and dinner, but what exact thoughts run through your mind in the operating theatre? You look at the calcified arteries in the heart and what? I need you to be more specific. Do you ever feel like biting through with your teeth?

In the OT your mind is constant and sharp just like mine when the images of creativity are transparent, intense and vivid. I miss these moments. They used to keep me thin and healthy. Now I’m not only losing my shape and health, but also my mind and it feels like the heart has never been there in first place. What happened to it? What happened to your heart? There is so much one can do with a heart: break it, eat it out, rip it out…

I still believe that you care too much, but I need you to, otherwise there’d be no plot and you know how important it is. I couldn’t care less at the beginning, you remember. But it was F., who managed to open my eyes. He saw something he wasn’t supposed to see and then he said he was glad to know me. That was probably the nicest thing someone said to me last year. Back then I felt smart. And now behind my back I hear utterances, such as, I am not good enough or implications of me being stupid. Maybe I am obtuse at times, but I have my reasons. I have my reasons.

I would do anything to swap places with you, despite the inevitable destiny that has marked the story; a story that has become greater than I, a story that has taken its own turn. I am no saviour, none of us are.

Take care of yourself.

P. for T.

 

by me (c) 2012

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