Everyone believes that Landis Tipton was the first open voldisil in the
world, but that’s not true. He’s not even the first healer, though we could
argue semantics all day. Landis became famous because he knew how to
leverage a business opportunity, and grow his brand. But the man I want to
talk about to you today didn’t have that. He wasn’t flashy or sexy. What he
did was painful, and comparatively slow, and it was a thankless job. It also
wasn’t necessarily permanent. His patients had to work very hard to prevent
themselves from falling into the same old habits. He cured them of their
affliction, to be sure, but whatever caused them to walk down that path in
the first place, it could happen again, or something else could do the same.
He didn’t have control over their actions. I understand that, in my final
moments, I’m meant to talk about myself, but I feel obligated to tell his
story since apparently, no one else has before. As I’ve said, he didn’t
become famous, and that’s a damn shame. Still, it’s probably reasonable for
me to start the tale from a personal place. I was always very curious and
experimental. According to my mother, I burned each hand on the stovetop two
days in a row. A normal person—even one so young—will not be fooled twice by
the same consequences. But I guess I couldn’t help myself. Sure, it burned
me the first time, but why would that mean it would burn me again? In the
era that I was growing up, it was perfectly normal for a child to go off on
their own, on their bicycle, or whathaveyou. I was particularly bad about
this, though, getting much farther away from the safe zone than I really
should have. I loved to explore, and I never got lost, but my personality is
what got me into trouble. I fell into the world of drugs when I was thirteen
years old. I didn’t surrender to peer pressure, or need to destress. If I
hadn’t tried a drug before, I figured I might as well, because what was the
worst that could happen? Obviously, a lot. I was an addict.
Notice that I say that I was an addict, because I’m not anymore.
Normally, that wouldn’t be accurate; someone like me would be in recovery,
but would live the rest of their lives with that mark, and at a greater risk
of backsliding. I don’t have to worry about that, because I rid myself of
all temptation. Rather, I should say, The Rehabilitator did it for me. He
had the special spirit ability to alter the neural chemistry of a client, as
well as any physical dependence that they were experiencing. He could remove
any addiction from you. I would know, he did it for me. I won’t tell you how
I hit rock bottom, because I like to focus on the positive, and he
positively fixed me. No more urges, no more second nature routines. I wasn’t
disgusted by drugs, like other addiction therapies try to do for you, but I
felt no need for them anymore. I returned a few weeks after my
very cheap session to thank him for what he did for me. My life was
on track. I was rebuilding relationships with people I had pushed away, and
I had just gotten the perfect job. We were never great friends, but I
stopped by to say hello and chat over the years. He kept doing his thing for
other people. He would charge them pennies for a service that literally only
he could provide. He could barely make ends meet, but the way he explained
it to me, his clients were at their lowest, and charging them a premium would have
needlessly made it harder on them. He died a few years ago. His obituary was
short, but hundreds of people went to his funeral. The paper didn’t bother
investigating why. He was a great man who deserved so much better. I owe him
the last forty years of my life.
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