Vitamin Ghosts

The spinach sat rotting in my desk drawer, a forgotten gift from a failed potluck three weeks ago. I should have thrown it out, but something about the gradual decay felt appropriate. Like my marriage. Like my career in data analytics at Veridian Wellness Corp.

I'd been running for months now—literally, on the treadmill at 5 AM every morning, and metaphorically, from the quiet realization that I'd become the kind of person who described themselves as "passionate about synergistic health solutions" in meetings. The running was supposed to help. That's what the lifestyle blogs said. That's what Dr. Chen said when she prescribed me the vitamin regimen.

"You're burning out, Marcus," she'd told me, tapping at her tablet. "Your cortisol is through the roof. You need B-complex, magnesium, and yes, more spinach." She was my third doctor in six months. The first two had suggested therapy. I'd switched providers instead.

The vitamin D pills were supposed to help with seasonal depression. The iron supplements for fatigue. The B12 for energy. I swallowed them every morning with lukewarm office coffee, a cocktail of manufactured wellness that left me feeling simultaneously wired and hollow.

Today, Sarah from HR found me in the breakroom, staring at the spinach in my hand. She'd come to discuss my "performance trajectory." Instead, she leaned against the counter and said, "You know, my mother used to say vegetables don't rot if you're eating enough of them."

I looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time in three years of working together. She had spinach in her teeth. Small, green evidence of a lunch actually enjoyed, not analyzed for macronutrient balance.

"Maybe," I said, "they rot because they're waiting to become something else."

Sarah laughed. It wasn't a kind laugh, but it was real. "God, you're pretentious." She paused. "I like that."

I threw the spinach in the trash. I didn't go running that evening. I didn't take the vitamins. Instead, I went home and told Elena I wanted to try again—really try, not just go through the motions of being married while we both ran in opposite directions.

She cried. She said she'd been waiting for me to stop running.

The vitamins sit on my counter now, gathering dust. I'm learning that some things can't be supplemented. Some gaps have to be filled the hard way: with awkward conversations, with imperfect efforts, with the willingness to rot a little before you grow.