I am weak in some point of character, — vacillating, yielding, stumbling, falling, continually eating the bitter fruit of it all. My friend is strong, he has gained thorough self-mastery. The majesty and beauty of power are upon his brow. I see his example, I love his life, I am influenced by his power. My soul longs and cries out for the same. A supreme effort of will — that imperial master that will take one anywhere when rightly directed — arises within me, it is born at last, and it calls all the soul’s latent powers into activity: and instead of stumbling I stand firm, instead of giving over in weakness I stand firm and master, I enter into the joys of full self-mastery, and through this into the mastery of all things besides. And thus my friend has again become my saviour.

With the new power I have acquired through the example and influence of my saviour-friend, I, in turn, stand before a friend who is struggling, who is stumbling and in despair. He sees, he feels, the power of my strength. He longs for, his soul cries out for the same. His interior forces are called into activity, he now knows his powers; and instead of the slave, he becomes the master, and thus I, in turn, have become his saviour. Oh, the wonderful sense of sublimity, the mighty feelings of responsibility, the deep sense of power and peace the recognition of this fact should bring to each and all. God works through the instrumentality of human agency. Then forever away with that old, shrivelling, weakening, dying, and devilish idea that we are poor worms of the dust! We may or we may not be: it all depends upon the self. The moment we believe we are we become such; and as long as we hold to the belief we will be held to this identity, and will act and live as such. The moment, however, we recognize our divinity, our higher, our God-selves, and the fact that we are the saviours of our fellow-men, we become saviours, and stand and move in the midst of a majesty and beauty and power that of itself proclaims us as such.

There is a prevalent idea to the effect that overcoming in this sense necessarily implies more or less of a giving up, — that it means something possibly on the order of asceticism. On the contrary, the highest, truest, keenest pleasures the human soul can know, it finds only after the higher is entered upon and has commenced its work of mastery; and, instead of there being a giving up of any kind, there is a great law which says that the lower always and of its own accord falls away before the higher.

(from: What All the World’s A-Seeking )

All i can say is without Vitamin B12, you might have a lot of complications. One example is anemia. So i guess Vitamin B12 is really important just like in one site http://products.mercola.com/vitamin-b12-spray/ it says “Vitamin B12 supports a healthy mood and feelings of well-being.* And then there’s this — it also provides excellent support for your memory, mental clarity, and concentration.*”

Pain froze you, for years—and fear—leaving scars. 
But now, as though miraculously, it seems, here you are 

walking easily across the ground, and into town 
as though you were floating on air, which in part you are, 

or riding a wave of what feels like the world’s good will—
though helped along by something foreign and older than you are 

and yet much younger too, inside you, and so palpable 
an X-ray, you’re sure, would show it, within the body you are,
 
not all that far beneath the skin, and even in 
some bones. Making you wonder: Are you what you are—

with all that isn’t actually you having flowed 
through and settled in you, and made you what you are? 

The pain was never replaced, nor was it quite erased. 
It’s memory now—so you know just how lucky you are. 

You didn’t always. Were you then? And where’s the fear?
Inside your words, like an engine? The car you are?! 

Face it, friend, you most exist when you’re driven 
away, or on—by forms and forces greater than you are. 

  ”I Am” by John Clare 

 I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death’s oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
And e’en the dearest–that I loved the best–
Are strange–nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil’d or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below–above the vaulted sky.