Ah, these words sound so clinical in doctor's mouth, but in my life, they wear different clothes. Tolerance is when my usual dose feels like water—needing more just to stand without wincing. Dependence is my body’s bargain: take the medicine or my joints turn to grinding stone. Withdrawal is the cruel collector coming for that debt. But addiction? That's a ghost they fear for me, while I'm just a man trying to work his stall, to fold momos with my son without my own pain stealing the pleats. For me, the medicine is a tool, not a master.
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