The Structure of Dopamine

Life, for me, is about chasing that feeling - the rush of dopamine I was robbed of when I was sixteen, forever changing my brainpan by starving myself into oblivion. Oblivion is my general state of being, a protection, if you will, against the harsher realities of the world. I live in it perpetually, like a fossil stuck in amber with no where to go but into the future. When I want the hit of dopamine, I go home. The feeling is perhaps a simple one - the feeling of going home, being home, craving that feeling of 'home', but for me it's my lifeblood. It's where I go to escape the amber cage. It's where I go to feel.

Dopamine has followed me, even outside my brain, even outside my desire to go home. Once I was on a bus to Portland, Maine, when I overheard a guy explaining his tattoo to semi-curious onlookers. It was a tattoo of the chemical structure of dopamine. That moment occurred in 2012, which was supposed to be the year of the end of the world. Instead, he had tattooed on him the beginning of my journey home, to good mental health. As he rolled down his sleeve and became someone I would write about later, I knew that would stick with me, the chemistry something completely foreign but the concept crystal clear, like seeing my face in the mirror.

I cherish dopamine, and I want every hit I can get. I don't take buses anymore. I don't see people with tattoos that make me feel at peace with myself. But I do take planes, three thousand miles to cover before I touch the ground where I recovered, where I got better.

When I feel lost, I search deep within myself, in this addled brain, and know - I need to go home. I need the rush I don't get anywhere else.