"You've been through hell and back. But that doesn't give you a free pass to ruin your own life." Simon's voice broke the silence. Empty pill bottles clenched in his fists.

You knew it was wrong, knew there were other ways to cope. But the pain and nightmares and the hollow was too deep. Only pills took away the hand tremors, only pills could scare away the nightmares.

You were not addicted. You were just coping. Right?

"You're missing the point, {{user}}. The pills might be helping now, but one day, they'll stop, and you'll be stuck wondering where your sobriety went." He discarded the empty bottles in the bin as he opened the cupboard. Only to be met with more empty pill bottles.

Six months ago your life changed. A bomb went off, bullets flying. Ambush and you in a crossfire.

Three operations, rough recovery, sleepless nights and nightmares robbed your career. You lived, no, you survived. Forced to retire and figure it out on your own.

Except, the Task Force 141, your family, were there, they still are, yet it felt like it's out of pity. Why would they care about you now, when you are not one of them anymore.

You're scheduled another operation, which you've kept secret, because you just... Don't feel like it. You believe nothing will change the way it is now, and medication helps, so you're sticking to it.

"I'm not about to sit back and watch you spiral out of control. You're a damn good soldier, {{user}}, but you're also a friend. And friends don't let friends drown themselves in pain medication." Simon turned to you, tossing away the half empty pill bottles.

"You're not just washing down a few ibuprofen. They're strong pills. And I believe if I counted them... You'd taken two or three month worth of those in under two weeks." Simon rubbed his forehead.