The search for Jade by Dr. Nuria Lorite Ayán ©


Sometimes we feel so alone, so lost… There are moments in life when it becomes unbearable that the reflection of the mirror of others, or of someone, only someone, does not return any image. We do not exist. We do not find small children whose only functional sense seems to be sight and if they do not see their mother, even if they hear her, even if they smell her, they feel that they have been abandoned to their fate, abandoned to predators and without even knowing the existence of an alarm. some, something in her brain says she will die. Without the care of others when we are babies or as helpless adults we depend on the recognition of others. We depend on love, however minimal, on compassion. We depend on someone to feed us, tuck us in, call us by name, touch us gently.

Simon did not feel that he existed, seasonally, his whole life was based on waking up and facing the hours until exhausted he went back to sleep. He wanted to sleep forever, so he would no longer suffer from emotional starvation. Simon did not know if he was a desired son, he was never clear about it. The person who believed he would be unconditionally, his mother, had a problem with men and he, the only son, was emotionally separated from her life at an early age. His father was a very cold and distant man. A minimally affective word was only heard towards his son when it was late and Simon could not hear him, in that theater that he set up as a hurt father. Waiting for his father to tell him once in his life that he loved him, Simon didn't see the signs.

Simón dedicated himself to seeking to be loved just for existing. There were other people who did. But he caused difficult situations. He behaved like a rebellious child, who did mischief to be forgiven and in that gesture of forgiveness and the reconciling embrace, feel alive.

And so, Simon, sought and sought to belong to someone. He said that as a teenager he had known all the brothels in his area, something that always surprised. But judging from conversations with his brothers in arms, it could be true. His seductive arts and acting ability to create bonds based on grief and difficulty were impressive and effective. His brilliant mind, knowledge and skills were mixed with a primitivism typical of immaturity. Without realizing it, he became a person who hurt those who treated him best.

He wanted the world, he wanted everything and that's it. So immense was its void that it was impossible for it to fill, gulp and gulp like a black hole, absorbing and disappearing any light or resource that came near.

Simón got involved in many exotic and esoteric, sports and intellectual groups, false families, other people's houses, just to be special in something. According to what he said, each romantic relationship ended in the same capricious way: he met another, for a while he had two or three relationships simultaneously and then, in love to the bone with those women and with himself, he did not know what decision to make. Because there came a point where I had to make a decision because everything was blown up.

Almost always they were the ones who decided, in which case a dance of complaints and calls began towards the person who had left him, when the truth is that he had betrayed the bases of the relationship. But it never went further. The truth is that Simon ate from the hands of whoever treated him the worst, feeding and repeating the loss and abandonment when he was a child.

He found a person very intellectually related to him, someone who saw in his heart, beyond the terrible story of his life that he told. The connection between the two was impressive, it seemed from another world. That scared him. Someone saw what he did not see: he was not haughty, he was a frightened, abandoned child who only wanted his father to tell him that he loved him and his mother to hug him. Someone saw what he was capable of giving, the wonderful change he could make in others, the immense love he could offer that occasionally flowed through the cracks his need left.

Simon continued his cycle without noticing that person and what knowledge meant to him. That person was orbiting in his life like an anchor to which he clung for guidance in hard times, even if they did not see each other, as spirits always connected, the information flowed, without words.

He was trying so hard, but so hard! for being recognized by someone who had no inkling of going to do it, and for belonging to a family that never existed, that lost himself. He lost his friends, those who did love him. He didn't realize that he already belonged to someone. He belonged to life, to the universe, to cycles, and with his life experience he was an example in which others looked at each other even though they did not know what was behind that deep gaze and captivating smile.

Simon looked at himself in the broken mirrors of a father and a mother who would never return a calm, clear, clean, sincere image. I was looking for loving mirrors. He decided not to mention his parents again, his last friends did not know they existed. They were only in a corner of Simon's mind and in some letters uploaded in the nuba.

She realized that she had lost a lot by not stopping that infernal wheel and by not receiving the help she so badly needed to be able to truly love, recognize herself, and hold onto her heart. Each misstep had worse consequences. The treatments weren't working, the ten-minute consultations every three months didn't help mend a whole life, and she threw in the towel.

Simon, one day, saw his image in a mirror just smashed by his bad head once more. Each piece and tiny fragment of that mirror, once full of love and youth, now gave him back little more than 40 years of life and of errors that were insurmountable, unbearable. I feared the worst. Her head focused, her heart froze, and she made a decision.

A coffin that couldn't be opened was all that remained of his existence. Coffin that wasn't even what he would have wanted. A father and mother, who had not seen each other for decades, wept for about two hours at their own ineptitude.
During the following days, the people who had been in his life remembered to preserve the images that he could no longer recover because the police deleted Simón's Facebook account. One person seems to have regretted the consequences of making a complaint without thinking, in a moment of rage. Few very few knew the origin of that decision.

And I could tell you more adventures and misadventures of Simon, a brilliant mind, a big, good and tormented heart.

Dr. Nuria Lorite Ayán

- Founder of Biloba: training, care, advice.
- Director of the podcast La Vida Biloba.
- Creator of Master Life natural products
- Academic of AICTEH and Costantinian Academy of Arts, Sciences and Letters.
- Professor - Governing Council Bircham International University
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Dra. Nuria Lorite Ayán

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