My natural state of being is anxiousness. There is a slight tremor that is constantly humming within my rib cage. I’ve always run hot. But I guess that figures: I am German, after all, and everyone knows how stereotypically passionate we can be. It’s in our blood; we can’t help it. We’re just like the Irish, French, Greek, Italian, and anyone even remotely connected to anything Spanish.

Today and for the rest of this month, I’m going to learn to like myself, or die trying. I’m going to concentrate on the positive things – not in my life, but in me. I need to learn, accept and know that me, alone, is enough.

However, just like my alcoholism, I can’t blame my misplaced anger on my heritage any more than I can blame external forces. Any justification for shrugging my shoulders and sinking into inescapable despair is unacceptable today.

After working so hard at staying free of drink, why wouldn’t I continue to work on myself? I mean, I’m the reason I drank in the first place. It stands to reason that the more acceptable I find myself, the less likely I’m to run to a chemical solution.

For today: Break down the nebulous into right-size pieces. Keeping everything unclear only serves to keep me off-balance. And nobody wants that.

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