Cured?

Two weeks stone cold turkey.
Visions of sugarplums blur in my head,
There's a little more of me to go around, and while I've gone
Round and round, I'm still better off.
I'll still take 5 pounds over multitudes of milligrams.
Little centipedes, millipedes wend their way over the wrinkles in my skull,
winding between and through the fingers that spread over my parietal lobes,
Frontal disinhibition's joyful grin flashes out through the thinning mist.
I can have both.
I can think and create, I can write and do - so long been mutually exclusive.
I can exclude a few things. I know it's not forever, but it's nice to know that it can be done.
I can go without. Be without, live without and love within still.
It's nice to know that I haven't changed much but the season, and so I can still simply hold a chemical accountable.
Table. Treble warbling song reaches skyward. It's nice to feel so good,
Nice to be not so crazy.
Maybe I'm growing out of this phase - I know better than to think my future's all sunshine and rainbows, but it's a small triumph over genetics and old lessons to say "all clear".
All good.
I forget, though, that I no longer have that lame excuse. Now I'm really just selfish for not checking off the next box, the next logical step.
I'm okay with selfish. I'm okay with the status quo.
5 pounds are a much lighter-weight burden to carry.