The Broken Soldier

It’s three days since I kicked Fentanyl.  One day since the myelogram.  Cold sweats.  Nausea.  Vomitous.  Shaking.  Hallucination.  Pain like I’ve never known.

No, that wasn’t a modified version of Renton’s sililoquy.  It’s what I’m living through today.  I’d say it’s my Cross, but that wouldn’t be accurate.  This suffering is meaningless.  Purposeless.  Serves nothing.  And it surely wasn’t Divine Will what brought me to this state.

I told my wife.  She’s walking a line of feeling sorry for and feeling angry with me.  But I feel this is something I must do.  Especially now.  I feel the storm coming.