I am used to running rampant, wildly thrashing through woods, life, and stars. I am not used to going to bed early, waking up early, and fulfilling obligations that I do not really feel obligated to fulfill. I am used to spending my time in smoky diners and driving aimlessly while listening to music on my busted speakers. I am not used to a short leash and a choke collar, the looming threat of homelessness if I don’t snap out of my shit. But, this is why I loathe and love mania, because it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels dangerous and hopeful. I bask in these euphoric feelings, because at least I’m not numb. No, I’m not numb now and although it hurts so bad to be caged, the reward is there, my freedom is just a wormhole away.