Sometimes it doesn't feel like me
What I'm living in is foreign
What I want versus what I need
In a way it feels distorted

I was use to deprivation
In a way it was my pride
I didn't need or wanted as much
Even now I still don't mind

Overwhelmed with newfound freedom
I am free. Still, I am lost
I'm no longer trapped or controlled
But that was all I was ever taught

I was raised by maps and manuals
Now you give me a pen to write my own
Opening various paths around me
Paralyzed in anxiety to take even one alone

If recovery meant burning all of my maps
And rewriting all of my manuals
Letting go of strict rules and superior words
To be mortal than something mechanical