It finds the sensitive spots and becomes acidic.
It makes you alert.
You've been burrowing through the fuzz for years, and it gives you the sharpness you need.
Sure, you feel a stabbing pain. And a loss is just as well.
However, throughout the cursing and shouting, the truth spews out. And you break down.
All that you never knew about yourself. All that you knew all too well. All that you wanted to fix. It slaps you in the face and kills a part of your spirit.
Your spirit is unlike the brain cells you killed when you drowned your sorrows in the smoke.
You build it back up.
And then give up.
You realize that you've been doing this ever since you made it a habit of laying down and watching people stomp on your face.
You don't know what to do, or what to make of life. You make an ordeal of every small thing, and the pain isn't a harsh pain or a catastrophe of sorts. It's an annoyance. And that scares you.