Breathe. That was the advice I was giving myself on one of my OA phone calls, one of the first ones.
I didn’t sneeze at the concert. That’s good. I must have not subjected my body to the toxins I have been known to do, which cause my body to try to rid itself of them.
Hate and love.
If a power greater than myself might see fit to restore me to sanity, then it probably is more interested in love than hate. If I can consider believing in that power, then I can also consider believing in the possibility that it doesn’t hate me. And if It doesn’t hate me, then maybe there’s some hope of me not hating myself either.
I guess I don’t expect any readers of this writing to come away chock full of brilliantly thought out ideas. I would just like to think that they would be able to breathe a little easier. To feel less trapped inside of their own fears and neuroses. I guess there’s a difference between just making yourself take a breath, and breeeaathing. Breeeaathing. There’s also a difference between trying to quiet your chattery mind, and experiencing a natural quiet and peacefulness from another place.