The little brown bearded man was fighting every moment against the drugs that made him slow and weak. They made his eyes go deep within their sockets, and made him stammer in his speech. More often than not, he would swallow words or say one in incorrect sequence. It was also hard controlling his anxiety-his palms would sweat and his feet would wobble in seemingly normal circumstances, and an invisible force would make him feel retarded even when he was not . He had a constant nausea throughout the day which was probably a result of his not being able to sleep at nights. To make things worse the drugs he took made him lactate. He could make out the difference between what he now was, and what he had earlier been. And this is why he fought bravely at first.
Then he knew it wasn't possible to do it, and so he retiringly chose to accept his condition , and trust the druggist to make him more suited to society....which he was truly not. He had taken up work , but he hardly talked. It was his disease that made him absolutely inept to socializing. Since he did not have feelings, he had no desires, and therefore he often looked as though he was beyond all things. He carried a mystic and retarded expression wherever he went, and that made people not want to approach.
But in the larger order of things, he knew that he existed. And that he would soon cease to exist.
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