He found himself at this juncture more than enough times. At first it was faint, nearly unfamiliar. It all swarmed on its own as he glanced down each half full bottles. Small canisters that held opioids stared him down. The gold that kept the pain tolerable to almost at levels of non-existent were muffled with their little voices. It made his pain of an emotional toil numb, almost at levels of figments of his imagination could carry. He counted on them to get out of bed, to move more than a few feet at a time without sharp stabs in his knee or shoulder.
Now they were mute. Unable to sing carelessly to him. They had the effect of nothing. No bearing on his day to day as he stared back at them lined up like a little choir of hydrocodone, oxy, and the occasional percs. Standing at a crossroads, the benefit of power was now one that threatened more of his identity. He was nothing without his pain. The fight he lived through and the dependency that assisted him in the day to day was ended just days ago. His recollection still fresh, remembering the wake up that startled his woman.
He tore through his apartment. Moved to destroy from the lack of sleep, the pressure applied to a single table as if flipped upward and crashed into pieces with a fist hammering through it. He frightened her, he knew. Needing to put space between the discovery of increased dexterity was imperative. His sanity relied on it and it always was a wait away from stammering into knowledge of his capable hands. One by one, he picked off the bottles, taken swipes at them with the hesitation there pressed at the back of head.
The voice of no, apprehension toying with him not to make that call; to move on while nothing was available to handle this new way of life. Had he been cooperative about it without identity being pulled out from his reach, it wouldn't have taken so long to do. The small trashcan waited by his foot, mouth open to be fed. He narrowed a singular gaze at the pail and groaned in dissatisfaction. Saying goodbye was heavy and so were a lot of things.
Frustration enabled from dealing with another person's issues clamped on his shoulders. His attempts, even wanting to be supportive came short with vagueness and ill-mentions that fell behind when efforts were looked over. Almost feeling pushed out as it were a thing he would've done. Hurt in some way never was expressed as he swallowed what pride he had and let things go silent. If space was needed then it would be granted. He had his head fixed to do better, and proceed with plan that career transitions recommended.
His hours weren't filled answering to his uncle anymore or clocking individuals who jumped bail. He had enough of it the moment his eye sight dimmed to darkness, and now feeling less of himself with the ailment of pain gone, he set a tone of change that went beyond what was required for the inner workings. Lingering memories of being down at his lowest were never to be forgotten and as he swiped one bottle into the small garbage, the final countdown began.
He popped one open shaking out a few tablets in his hand. The force of crumbling ensued as he closed his palm to hide what once protected him from pain. Powered by less effort his palm gave to, all slipped into the trash along with the bottles it came from. One by one, he let them go. Let them fall to their descent in a grave that would go out with the next day's trash because he wasn't in need of it any longer. Stepping away from what altered and temporarily was cause of relief, he shuttled out of his room to finish more of his thinking.
His apartment was silent save for the cats that were actively trying to complete acrobatic stunts off of their towers. He pulled one off carefully to sit on his shoulder. A habit he committed to because it mellowed out his mood when it was needed from reacting impulsively. One of the other kittens leapt off to follow, while his eldest cat stayed behind. His gracing the living room lasted as long as it did once he succumbed to the couch. The table that was once a show piece along with the magazines that dressed it was long gone. In pieces and lost to the trash after destroying it not too long ago.
The company of felines would have to do. So would this latest addition he woke up to. Like other times, the wake of it all killed his spirit because of what effects it had while his superior self was away. He faced the levels of strength and what a true asshole it all was while trying to watch his moves more than ever now. Ruined property was one thing but ruining someone else was another and one he needed more discipline to uphold. The meowing and purring that went on fell as background noise while he had time with his thoughts that were all running congruent. Differentiation took a for another skill he wished came with the new ones but all the same he felt more like him and less like Nathan.
What was more daunting than ever is the rate these things occurred and why as the why is always hanging above his head, just as Selene done after finding her spot on the top of his head. Before the ragdoll could fall over he caught her in his grip. He was painfully aware as not to handle her and her brother a particular way in fear of harming them too. Carefully placed on the arm of the couch while the other hopped on the edge, Nate slumped deeper into the cushions while the edge of the night neared. Where sleep and not getting much of it battled, his thoughts went back to the pills the garbage had a late snack of. Holding out and wishing feeling such a way would leave him be but the gut was heavy of that outcome being disproved.