Speak the truth. Feel your feelings. I don't know why people tell you that in the recovery rooms. No one wants to hear my particular truth or hear about my feelings.

What is truth anyway? It's relative. My truth isn't the same as anyone else's. Does it make them wrong and me right? No.

And why should I feel my feelings? I respond or react to something said or done only to learn that the other person has denied saying or doing it. I'm left looking foolish or insane. Wouldn't it be better to coast along in a medicated haze and pretend that everyone else isn't here?

And yet- that wouldn't be living.

So here's my truth. I'm living in faith. I'm praying for an all out miracle. I need a job because if I don't have one by the end of July, I'll be homeless. I have two more paychecks from my teaching job and then there's nothing. I can't get my brother to accept his situation. He wants to hang onto me for dear life like a drowning man who takes down another. It's disheartening.

Feelings? I've run the gamut. I've tried to steer clear of people who illicit strong feelings one way or another. I've been focusing on myself and what is in front of me. Today I tackled the spare bedroom and got every tote to fit into the closets. I've got 8 boxes of books and toys to take to Safe Haven or Good Will tomorrow with Philip's help. Now I just need to get Barry's stuff out of here.