To Feel Alive

I knock at my friend and colleague’s cubicle wall. “Hey,” I say, “how’s it hanging?”
“I am stating to forget words,” he looks at me wearily, “not the ones from my first language. These seem etched permanently into the surface of my cortex. I wish I was forgetting them. I’m starting to forget the English words – the ones I need to know in order to lead a normal conversation with humanity around me.”
His sadness is contagious. “How come?” I ask, the only way I know how to partake in his struggle.
“This is something new for me. A while back when the dog was still alive I spoke to it and it was easy to recall the words. Back then when I still spoke to my co-workers – who now I despise, to my mailman – whom I hardly see anymore, to my wife – the words were there. But now, now words seem to elude me. I don’t think I have dementia – I would have caught myself forgetting a lot more than simply words. No, it’s the words that everyone uses when leading a simple communication with the people around him – it’s words like ‘ audacity’ or ‘ valuable’ that are eluding me.”
I enter into his small, squared cubicle and sit on his only chair for visitors. Our bodies are close now and I can almost feel the radiating anger from his torso.
“Perhaps, it is because I’ve been hiding. Yes, I’ve been hiding and that’s why the words are hiding from me now. For nearly eight months, I’ve been hiding in this cubicle, turning my back to the world, ignoring whomever walked behind me, whomever offered the perspective for a decent conversation, to these and other prospects I turned my back. And how could I not? Now that I recall all these situations – how could I have not?” He stops and casts a looks around the other cubicles. He knows it is safe to share with me his inner pain. The rest of the world is on a permanent lunch brake.
“The …what was that word again… audacity, ah yes, that’s the word – the audacity of these people who lack college education and even general common sense, who think that the world revolves around them constantly– the…what was it…yes, the audacity of those who shamelessly repeat the words I tell them in private, the ideas I share with them, which then they proclaim out oud at meetings and claim to be their rightful inventors– how could they? Where is the sense of ownership?” He is shaking from the anger.
“I’m sorry, pal, I wish I can somehow help you,” I say. I want to hug him. I want to pat his back and ease this physical and emotional strife.
“How could I decide to come and spend my …here I go again…ah, yes, valuable time with them instead of staying back North. I moved so that I can be closer to my family – so that I can help them adjust to this new environment, this new state with its weather, and regulations and old people. True, I knew I’d have to spend most of my time doing chores, but I didn’t care. The prospect of enjoying a little, I say little but I found out it was a lot more, warmer weather, the prospect of being away from traffic, which by the way turned out to be an illusion, of having less stressful job, this prospect was far greater than the money I was earning back North – so I wanted this move. Silly me! Silly, stupid me! Why? I sit here in the cubicle and try to recall words like…well I can’t recall the words I’m trying to recall…so I feel useless.”
I look at his red, tired eyes. He appears so miserable, so lonely, so exhausted.
“And what was the idea in the first place? That moving down here would be a successful venture of the kind that people do when they are ready to retire. But I’m only 30 – why think about retirement? All I wanted was a long vacation, not retirement. My brain is still capable of learning, processing large amounts of information and adaptation to career progression and boss-bullshit. It still has the capacity to endure shit from others, to suffer stressful situations, to look for ways to endure, to escape, to collect and disseminate. My brain is still young, still has time to mature, to grow, to form networks, engage in complex problem solving – why was I thinking about retirement? Why?”
I let him vent. I know this is the only way to help him.
“I slowly come to the realization that there needs to be a law. A law that forbids people younger than say 50 to even think let alone talk about retirement. There needs to be a law that puts every person under 50 in a class at a university and demands from them to learn and look for application to the acquired knowledge. How else do you think we can help the numerous patients diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s diseases each year? How else can we prevent so many brains from being afflicted with dementia, with premature meltdown? How? Why are people turning into logs before their bodies deteriorate? I’ll tell you why - I know now why. Because we yield to the will and determination of others. Because those suffering from low self-esteem, let others lead, direct, demand from them that which they alone would be perfectly capable of deciding, doing, thinking. They let others make the choices, rather than taking a stand, making the choice – they let others think for their sake. Low self-esteem then seems to be the problem that leads to mental illness. How else can I explain the fact that I am sitting in this cubicle, slowly drifting into nothingness, while my young, perfectly capable brain slowly secedes from its strengths and alertness, slowly looses its cognition and memory until I'm left with the consequences - to turn into a living vegetable, into a giant carrot that can’t even plant myself but needs others to do it for me, to make a salad out of me. I must fight! I must take arms against the low self-esteem. I must let my brain do the decision making. I must take charge and fight against this morbid prospect, this monstrosity of a disease – against the memory loss, against the loss of words such as VALUABLE AND AUDACITY – wow! Now I seem to be recalling them without a problem...”
But I’m not listening anymore. I’ve slowly inched out of his cubicle and started toward the front door leading to the street. Only one thing intrudes my mind – to take a walk outside and look at nature, to feel alive, to let my brain feel alive. His misery has proven useful, if not for him, for me. I know I’m capable to sustain myself – I CAN! And so I’m out and I’m on my way toward self-preservation. I’ve let my guard down to welcome life.