I don't know what makes people disappear from our lives. In Morpheus' case, he had a whole family he was trying to hide from me.
It's strange, but I usually find constantly answering my TXT-messages as a pain in the ass, especially if you're playing the game with someone on Tinder or Bumble. With Elijah, I never care. I was interested in the conversation, and I didn't want it to stop.
But it did. It did stop.
The last argument we got into before he left was when he accused me of being an opioid addict.
"I don't deserve to be criticized on something you just don't understand." (Me)
"You're right. You deserve a handful of hydrocodone and a little more fucking arrogance." (Elijah)
"If you want to be an asshole, be an asshole, but I don't deserve being treated this way." (Me)
"I told you my motive here three times. Whatever. Squander the beauty of life stuck on the couch." (Elijah)
The irony of all of this is the fact that Stanford Pain Management is highly motivated to titrate me down to the lowest dose of Tylenol #4 possible, perhaps ending the therapy when I get only a few pill every month for times when the pain is especially bad. Another possibility that has been brought up is putting me on the Butrans patch.
"Ay, if you can't handle honesty you won't be my friend for long." (Elijah)
"Your 'honesty' can be wrong, you know, You're not a doctor, I'm not your patient....If you insist on judging me for using pain meds when I'm in pain, well, then, I don't want to be your friend either." (me)
___
"I know drug using people." (Elijah)
"I don't need you passing judgment on me." (me)
"I'm not. And you keep lying to yourself." (Elijah)
___
No comments:
Post a Comment