Just a few here, just a few there. Stupid bitch won't even notice.
Every single "pill" represents a day I bore pain. Chronic pain. A day I grit my teeth and powered through some shit in the name of not pussying out and succumbing to a panacea whose components are weakness and escapism and addiction.
I bore pain with the belief that the escape hatch was always there in the background if I really needed it. If shit got hairy, I could pull the cords and scream "Right here, right here! I neeeeed to get off pleease!"
Stupid bitch won't even notice.
And I'd count them. I felt bad about counting but I did. I'd watch the numbers go sharply from 60 to 14...and you'd always tell me I'm crazy: "Are you sure it wasn't you? I think your memory is screwed up, didn't you just take three of them yesterday?"
The worst was when I had them locked up in a box...a box to which you'd stolen the spare key almost from day one. A key I'd believed I'd lost on vacation. You still won't admit that part. You let me believe I was nuts.
You let the world believe I was nuts.
"Where are the ones I already prescribed you? Well I can't give you any more. You're going to need to see a specialist now."
Credibility I will never get back...but this seems to be a running theme with you. I wear your mask of filth so you are free to roll your eyes at me and secretly revel in your victory: dodged another bullet. Oh how smart...how slick you are for all of us. Another badge for your superior mind.
But what makes this real, what makes the diagnosis "sociopath" true for you: It's your righteous indignation as you point out my disturbances. Your eager and superior air as you threaten to expose me. How you lord it over my head.
But you forgot who I am. You've become so comfortable seeing me as stupid, you've forgotten that's never been true, has it? I've got my little jar filled with crumbs: things you left out, bits you've dropped.
And I'm learning, you motherfucker.
I approve of this crazy.
In a Bob Seger kind of way.
Fuck yeah, Navkat.
Cats get to spreading lies for so long that they begin to believe them themselves. Then they don't understand why suddenly there's a knife in their ribcage.
Coyote's got a shovel and tarp I'm sure he'd let you use. Christ.
Sweet fuck.
Things seem more sinister when reading them backwards.
:mittens:
Awesome stuff, navkat! It's good to clean it all out and get it written out!