How does a person go about life without being the embodiment of their illness? Every night I must take another pill to weigh down the smoke inside of me. I must walk on the other side of the street to avoid the outstretched arms of unwanted opportunities. I must look away from every broken heart calling out for relief.
I must do this all to live like you do: hospital-cuff free for more than a few weeks at a time.
I must relentlessly bend my back to keep this black phantom at bay, and I cannot dare break.
How do I go about without acknowledging that I am governed by someone who is not myself?
I am tired of letting my will be dictated by the side of me that I still have yet to shake hands with. Not once did I invite such a common stranger into my home.
When will the time come that my self-control will not be controlled by bottle and long walks around obstacles most pass by without any thought?  When will I be able to follow you through the shortcuts and roundabouts?
My feet are tired of treading over collapsed pavement and grass littered with hidden falls. I ache for the path taken twice-over by the masses.
Normality has always sounded so sweet and smelled so tempting. When will I be allowed to gorge myself on it?