Wreathed in Smoke – Part 2
I might have been born in 1984, but in many respects it feels like my life didn’t get started until September 2nd, 2021.
My mental health has become An Issue. In the shadow of COVID-19 and everything that it has become, not to mention the lifelong battle with ADHD and major depression, my wife was scared to leave me by myself. She worried about what she might come home to one day. I had gone completely numb inside, wandering around like a semi-intelligent zombie. I would sit at my desk when I got home and stare at the computer; accomplishing nothing, doing nothing, enjoying nothing. It was bleak.
When my wife has to ask me each time she leaves the house if I’ll be okay, it’s time to reach out and find some help.
When we went to the doctor’s office on the 2nd, I wasn’t expecting much. I’d been through various forms of treatment since I was a small child. I cannot tell you the amount of times I have been to a well-meaning but ultimately unhelpful doctor or therapist who eventually threw up their hands in defeat.
This time was different, however. A major medication very, very recently went generic. This is the sort of medication that would’ve cost several hundred dollars a month even with insurance. It is, in almost every respect, tailor-made for individuals in my position. I had been recommended the medication nearly every time I talked to anyone about medication, but I could never have afforded it even if I wanted to start taking it. You see, once you’re on this medication, it takes months (sometimes years) to get yourself off it. When I’m staring down the barrel of not being able to afford the medication I can’t stop taking, then it’s not something I can start taking.
Yet, after an hour at the doctor’s office (where I got a wonderful surprise and my blood pressure is normal now after years of hypertension), I walked out with a prescription in hand. Once it was filled, I took my first dose that day. Price tag for a full month of life-changing drugs? 15 dollars. Yeah, from hundreds plural to fifteen bucks. That’s how much it matters to have the generic system in America.
In the span of 24 hours I went from an extended state of numb disconnection to having a solution plopped in my lap.
This last month has been no picnic. There are severe side-effects to beginning this particular medication. Some of them have waned as time has gone on. Some of them won’t go away until they nail the coffin shut.
It is, and will be, worth every single moment of discomfort.
For the first time in what must be years, I feel good. Normal. Happy, even. I feel like my accomplishments are accomplishments. I feel motivated to get things done. I genuinely desire to do well at the tasks assigned to me. I don’t walk around all day every day wrapped up in a cocoon of soul-sucking anguish.
It’s been magnificent to see this change in myself. My wife has broken down in tears upon several occasions at just how much I’ve improved mentally over the last month.
Make no mistake: I’m not fixed. There is never going to be a whole. I still get sad. I still get down on myself and say things to myself I would never condone someone saying to another. That’s just how my brain works.
However, there is no longer a spiral effect where bad thoughts stack atop one another until I am buried under an avalanche of corrosive self-loathing. I have a bad thought, then I am able to brush that thought aside and keep on trucking.
I am sitting here at 2 PM on a Saturday writing for all I’m worth, and I don’t know that I have managed to do that this entire year, nor do I think I managed that more than a handful of times in 2020.
The difference is profound. The difference is welcome. I am eager to see what I can do now that I’ve been handed a solid foundation to build my life on.
First things first, today’s accomplishment will be part two of Wreathed in Smoke.
Wreathed in Smoke – Part 2
Of all Urellian’s children, it is Dragons whom She loves best.
For upon their horned brows and winged shoulders She has placed the mantle of all Her powers.
They offer up their sacraments and oblations with each fiery breath.
There was trouble, then there was the fathomless bog of peril that Guildmaster Laylah Rikkard and I had been flung into. Head first.
Mother’s egg was the one thing on the whole of Fynrallah that could make her give Amonrest a dragon’s kiss.
The brief moment of levity I had shared with Laylah was fading fast. There were only a handful of beings with the strength and the madness to pull this off. All of them were on a level with Mother. Not as strong, obviously, but that wasn’t their fault. Mother dearest had been the first to realize that there was something better to do with denizens than hunt them for sport. She was always telling me how amazing it was what the ‘wee little beasties’ could do when you gathered them together.
I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. Mother. Always it came back to her. I cursed anew whatever cruel twist of fate had caused me to be born under her baleful eye. My hands were curled into fists, black blood seeping between my knuckles as my claws bit home.
Laylah’s hand, pale as ivory, appeared on my forearm. Warm and smooth despite her years, she squeezed very gently. I relaxed at the contact. A small part of me twinged with jealousy at her long, slim fingers so unlike the brutal instruments I now possessed. I looked into her eyes for a moment. She did not recoil as my slitted yellow pupils met her amber ones. After a moment, and with a small grunt, I pulled my claws from my palms. The wounds closed over and healed themselves as soon as I did. I only just managed to keep myself from ruining yet another greatcoat by wiping ichor on it.
With deliberate care I walked around Laylah to the large cast iron basin I used to wash everything with. It was enormous, weighing at least a hundred kilos. I grabbed the iron ‘brush’ that was hanging on the inside and got to scrubbing. The basin sizzled and popped as I worked methodically to clean my hands and arms. A single drop would burn a hole right through some poor unsuspecting denizen. As it stands, I wouldn’t be able to dump the tub for a week while the water did its work.
When I was satisfied that I wouldn’t accidentally maim anyone, I replaced the brush and turned back to my guest. She had her head tilted sideways and a light smile on her face as she studied me.
“I have known many scale-blessed in my five tributes, Khain. Any one of them would slaughter their own families at the mere possibility of possessing a tithe of what has been given unto you.”
She came closer, head still tilted, eyes searching mine as I looked away in anger and disgust at what Mother had forced me to become.
The same ivory hand appeared on my cheek. Pressure, insistent without being demanding, turned me to meet her eyes once more. She looked again, trying to find what it was she couldn’t comprehend. Then they widened as she finally understood. The gentle blossom of her lips parted as she gasped in surprise.
“You’d give it all up in a heartbeat if you could, wouldn’t you?”
I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the omni-present smell of draft dragon mingled with aged timber. All that remained of my memories from decades spent with a loving family were hidden in those smells. They were all that sustained me.
I opened my eyes and nodded.
Laylah nodded as well, as though my actions had settled some internal argument.
“I had wondered if your self-imposed exile was a game you were playing with Queen Amonallia, but I see now that you simply want nothing to do with any of it.”
I shrugged my shoulders, my wings creaking slightly as they pressed up against the great coat. I coughed, pulled the collar up, and politely made my way past Guildmaster Rikkard towards the door.
“I think we should be going, Laylah. I mean, Guildmaster Rikkard. I don’t think Mother’s egg is just going to appear upon my flagstones.”
I opened the door and stepped out, holding it respectfully open as I did. The spire jutted into the sky atop the hill at the center of Amonrest, lording over the houses and shops built in concentric circles surrounding it. Urel’theyk was at mid-day and shining so bright I had to shield my eyes from the glare. We’d been talking longer than I had intended.
I inhaled an obligatory lungful of musty draft dragon air, then immediately turned around and shoved Laylah back into the den without ceremony before slamming the door in her stunned face. I took a few steps forward and prepared to meet my maker.
I tore off my great coat and threw it behind me with equal lack of concern, snapping my wings as wide as they would go. I spread my claws, slammed the grime-encrusted flagstones with my tail, and bared my fangs with a snarl of rage as I scanned the horizon.
Hands slid effortlessly between arms and wings, embracing me in a hug from behind. The snarl and the angry bravado evaporated like morning-dew under their touch. A face I knew but could not see poured words of purest honey into my ears. I was rigid with paralytic ecstasy.
“Why my love, you almost make me think you aren’t happy to see me.”
To be continued…
Honeyfully,
The Unsheathed Quill
