"...I dont enjoy anything" he said while enjoying a cigarette.

It was a common complaint from his mouth, but he was unsure if the supposed evidence justified the feeling that drove the words out from
his lips.

"Thats not true, at least, not from what I can tell. You enjoy your cooking, if nothing else. Its like you calling. I'd like to think you enjoy
being around us. You enjoy the cat, and that cigarette."

They both looked at the smoke, curling up so briefly to its recognizable form before dispersing into the wind

"That's true. But, from my perspective, what good is a fleeting enjoyment if the only thing it seems to add to your continued experience is more
sadness??" He inquired, flicking at his cigarette emphatically.

The Paranoiac was aware of how selfish he sounded and was. But being aware of this selfishness didn't resolve his pain.

"...This cigarette is good. And, after I have smoked it, it will have been good... I will be both glad that I smoked it, and glad to have the
memory of smoking it. But I wont feel better. I'll feel the same overall, on a visceral level... Yea."

"But you're telling yourself that!" The Man interjected, after remaining silent for the early conversation. "Of course you wont believe in your
enjoyment if you tell yourself you're incapable. Its a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Chicken or the egg" he replied. "And I am not incapable, its just that every joy costs its weight in misery. Yin-and-yang shit."

He laughed a bit in earnest, and ventured:

"I guess pearls before swine would be fitting, too: because I feel like the most ungrateful motherfukcer in the world. In my head I am grateful.
Like, when I think about it. But as for how gratitude feels... I'm convinced its the same feeling as sadness. I'm convinced Love, happiness, fear,
anxiety, guilt, comfort... they're all the same feeling as sadness, because they all seem to lead to it eventually."

The Paranoiac paused. The Two were watching, digesting what he had said with far more concern and empathy than he deserved.        

"...And it doesn't get better. You just get better at dealing; better at hiding it. From yourself and others. But it's there, and no matter
how long you can push it back, how burly your mental arms get, they're still holding all that mysterious weight. It will take its toll.
Makes you crave, no, need a break. Something to tag in, just for a moment, so you can recover your strength enough to go on."

"But we can tag in. Better than a chemical could!We can take some of the burden" The Man said with confidence.
He had a comforting look on his face, and the fact that this good natured comfort, bolstered to a level that could work miracles was wasted on HIM,
led our Paranoiac to a pang of sadness...
A pang so deep it didn't register, for it had to stab in amongst the others, festering like needles in his Soul.  

The Paranoiac didn't want to be honest. The truth was cold, but he felt obliged.

..."If that were true, we'd be the same person" He said.

Both their expressions fell back, though he wasn't sure into what. It wasn't possible to explain the feeling, not in this world, and he
wouldn't want to anyways. To understand is to experience, and sharing his burdens in full (if it were feasible) would thus make him an
evil man.

He shifted out of philosophical context, for if he didnt, he felt as though the world might end.

"And now I'm paranoid, too, you see. I feel as though I can either die from the problem itself, or at the hands of its solution.
I can't be sure which one will kill me quicker, for I assume the timing is different... But both outcomes make me a bit sad, if I'm honest."

...

"My dope is my choice. It's the only power, among a fair few, that makes me FEEL like I have power against the void, despite its habit of bringing
me closer. But maybe that's not the drug itself, but its subject. Maybe the only thing wrong with drugs is the people who use them."

...

"So are you going to use tonight?" Asked The Woman. The Man looked at nothing in disappointment, aware of the answer.

"Don't hold it against me if I do" said the Paranoiac, in pointless ambiguity.

"I will" said The Man.

"It wouldn't be right if you didn't" the Paranoiac half spoke, half thought: the tail end of his conversation with his parents was hard to remember,
except in general, because the only thing on his mind now was how sad this whole situation made him. He'd have to use drugs to avoid the sadness,
and that would also make him sad... What a bother.

At l(e)ast his arms would get a break. Well, the mental ones anyways.