Disclaimer: I don't own the show or the characters of House—they belong to FOX and company.
Note: I deal with chronic pain and pills. So there's a little bit of me mixed in with the character House.
Pain Monster
'Night falls and I'm alone,' he thought as he sat in his lazy boy recliner sipping 12-year-old scotch, smoking a cigar, popping a couple more Vicodin, and watching TV. He ignores the "do not drink" warning once again--he tends to think of it more as a suggestion. Most nights, it was the only way he could get any sleep at all. During desperate times, he added a Valium to the mix—tonight was one of those times. Of course he realized that could be dangerous, but what the hell. To say he never considered eliminating himself from the ranks of the living would be a lie, besides there weren't enough pills in the bottle to do it tonight anyway. Some would say it takes courage not to surrender, but they are usually the idiots that have never experienced chronic disabling pain. The years of the pain monster digging its claws into his flesh had left its scars on his soul. He was bitter, angry, and alone. It was 2:00 am, a time when those dark thoughts surfaced from the back of his mind.
"It's funny the shit that goes through your head while waiting for the synthetic bliss to occupy every part of my body. I wasn't always this way—well that's not entirely true—everyone lies including me. I've been a bit of an arrogant asshole most of my life—I'm just more of one now—chronic pain does that to you. Pain, my only symptom was pain. Pain so bad I thought I was going to die—I wished I died. Three days of testing with negative results. I suggested it might be muscle death—I was right. They did an angiogram and found a major clot that blocked blood flow to my right thigh muscle. By that time it was too late—muscle death had occurred—and I was introduced to the pain monster, years of therapy, and a pretty much miserable rest of my life. I blamed Stacy and I drove her away. She wanted me to live—I wanted my leg. I miss her. Wilson is still here—I'm not clear on why. Over the years, I have thrown a lot of crap his way. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he was there—through all of it. I guess that's part of being a friend. The clinic hours are nothing compared to the friend hours I owe Wilson—I'd never tell him that—that's so not me."
"So, what keeps me here? Good question. I don't go along with that crap that things happen to us for a reason—things just happen. I think that basically I hang around to torment my three young ducklings—I do get some enjoyment out of that—Cuddy too. She is more of a challenge—when I mess with her, she's very good with the comeback. Cameron—wow she is hot. She wants to save me—hell, she wants to save everyone. Doesn't seem to be enough. It would be so easy to quit, but I don't. Maybe because of me, some other poor bastard might not have to go through what I go through each and every day. Does that mean I care?—don't think so. I do feel the Valium kicking in—lulling to sleep the racking pain. Another night spent sleeping in the lazy boy. If I wake up in the morning, my life continues another day with the pain monster. If I don't, no more pain monster—I win. I think that was the Valium talking."