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Junkie

The nerve block they gave me on my right arm is wearing off and a dull ache has become a constant companion. I've often wondered how people dealt with pain on a daily basis, and now I find the answer firsthand.
Those that choose to dwell on it feel it up close, much like sticking one's head right smack in a loudspeaker at a rock concert, but if there are enough things to distract you, it becomes a kind of background noise, always present but forgettable.
I've chosen to go easy on the pills so as to maintain my consciousness, and my balance. I do not like the feeling of being in a state of dependence. A full dose eases the pain, but makes standing and walking hard. It becomes hard to concentrate on things, and now I understand why some choose to walk this path when reality becomes too difficult to face.
I read what I have typed and I see that my voice has changed. My one working hand is unable to express my thought at the speed which I've become used to, and the result souds both juvenile and confused as visual images of letters fly fast and furiously, my one hand trying to hit them all.
I move and move, and yet I speak so slow.
Wait for me.

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