“But, in the end, even you are flat. I just never reached your edge before. I came right up to it, and always turned away. I didn't want to push you—ask you questions you couldn't answer. I hid your edge even from myself. You were too important to me—helping me think through my problems, laughing with me, keeping me company through so many long hours. That's the real trick. It's not how convincing you are. In fact, the questions were always there to ask. It would have been easy. Where are the graduate students you always talk about? What is this experiment you have been working on for years? But I never did it. And that's the point. I hid the edge from myself. That's how this works. That's how addictive this is—this need to feel like there is always someone there, unconditionally. Someone to talk to. Someone who understands. To not have to do the work myself to make myself understand. Instead, I just kept on with this self-deception, pretending I had someone when I did not. I know the doctors who prescribed you to me meant well. They thought they were helping me through a dark time. But in the end, you aren't anything but a prosthesis. You can't replace real support.”