A patient liaison pointed me in the right direction with a pitying expression. I wanted to explain that it wasn’t nice to openly pity pred addicts—or any addicts—but I held my tongue. About twenty people were mingling in the room when I arrived. Most hung out in groups of four or five, drinking coffee in paper cups and talking about last night’s TV shows or their families. They were a diverse bunch—men and women, old and young. I counted addicts of every affliction, but only one rage addict. That itself could be interesting given that something might be up with the furies, or it could simply be that rage addicts needed more intensive interventions than a support group. Having met a couple, that was easy to believe. But the most interesting part at all was that when I closed my eyes, they disappeared. I could hear them, but emotionally they were dead to me. Addicts could only feed their masters, so this wasn’t a surprise, nor something I hadn’t encountered before.
What do You think about [M__M 03] Misery Loves Company?
