I had a friend whose left leg was an inch shorter than his right. For years he tried to hide his limp and, as a result, developed chronic tendonitis and stalactic bone spurs. He finally had “weird shoes” made (his term) to correct the problem.I had another friend, an alcoholic, who became so disgusted with life inside the bottle that she finally broke down and reached out for help. She was no less in need of rescue than a prospector in a collapsed mine. In both cases, the effects were outwardly visible. But the real battle, the invisible war, was going on inside of them. Neither should be blamed for their congenital conditions. A short leg is real. So is nature/nurture-rooted predisposition of an addict. But the responsibility to face the enemy? That’s theirs.