OK, let's be clear here. As I'm struggling to stay alive you go out and buy 70 bags of street heroin to enjoy a few kicks and maybe do yourself in. You knew that was always an option, didn't you. A bit cheeky, don't you think? No?
Listen, you arrogant, self absorbed son of a bitch; YOU were 20 years my junior with great talent and an exploding career - - - and you threw it all away. I read the loving crap being said about you and I feel nothing. That's not true. I still feel something. Pure ANGER.
And don't tell me you had problems. Yes, like you're the only one. Come here and let me punch your "Tough Shit" card! Your problems are commonly known as "the human condition" suffered by anyone who can breathe and experience complex thoughts.
You had access to all the best treatment, but as we all know, treatment isn't helpful unless the patient really wants it to work. Of course, you already knew that, didn't you.
Being denied access to treatment by some top medical talent, as my body breaks down, I will not even be allowed the dignity of assisted suicide. So maybe, just maybe, I could hit you up for a few of those extra bags of H you won't be needing anymore? Just a thought. There won't be anyone offering a loving eulogy for me, that's for sure.
Your cowardice disgusts me.
And so it goes.