the line

I hate being a drug addict. It is inconvenient as hell. Most people, in most parts of the world, just take medicine for pain, or not, as the case may be. Not me. I have to weigh, consider, examine my body like a running CT scanner, ever vigilant for the slightest nuance of discomfort. And there is a difference between pain and discomfort that I have to be so very aware of. To thine own self be true. Yes. Great idea. The problem seems to arise NOT when I am consuming the drug, per doctor's orders. It's all good then. I have real pain PLUS something to look forward to. But when it is over -- the legitimate need for pain medication -- that's when the chatter begins in earnest. "Aw, c'mon. It hurts, you know it and I know it." It is at that point, when the voice in my head, (the mean one I'd hoped I'd gotten rid of in this past surgery) begins to refer to me as "we" I know I'm in deep weeds. I am alone in the room. Of this much I am certain. But suddenly, the voice dictates: "we" need medication. (I appreciate Bob Earl for his insight into this particular aspect of the addictive mind.) So, anyway, as of this morning, my medication extravaganza is over, and now I think I need a party thrown in my honor for not over-doing it. I want a medal. I want presents. I want about a bucket of vicodin to last me. But it wouldn't, would it? That's the sad truth. The sad truth is that the 15 minutes that are loveable about narcotics, those sweet, fleeting moments that crawl up your spine like an expert lover, bleed into hours of sedation. I used to be Willing to trade it all for those moments, and live a sedated life. And the thing is, wouldn't you think it was cause for celebration to be free of pain? Don't most people look forward to that? Isn't that what healing is all about? Twisted.