I grabbed a book from my closet this morning to read during my lunch time. It was a book of inspirational stories and I thought it as a good choice giving the muck my brain seems to be drowning in lately. I thumbed though a few stories but couldn't focus on any long enough to get though them. Just then a St. Anthony medal fell out into my lap. I'm not really sure where the book came from or who the medal belongs to but there it was in my fingers just when I needed it.
So I'm going to try something. I'm going to write though this. I'm going to keep writing until all the black and thickness and anxiety gets manageable. I have to believe that it will happen.
I went for about and hour walk after work. I listened to music that I liked and as loud as I wanted and I just walk and walked. I thought about how lucky I was, it was about 70 degrees. I even found puffs of dandelions that I HAD to pick and blow the seeds from.
And before I went back into the house I looked up to see that the moon was smiling at me.
I wish I understood the pull of the panic and anxiety that scares me so. I wish I could control what it does to me but until then I'm just going to write though it.