Just Breathe.

I can breathe. 

You know that feeling of relief you get taking off uncomfortable shoes after a long day? Or sinking into a warm bath when muscles ache? 

Right now, that's the continual feeling I have with every breath. Relief. 

I'm not drowning because I'm not struggling. I'm not choking on words because I don't have anything to kick out of my mind that shouldn't be there. There's no fight left within me - in the best possible way. I looked around inside my spirit several days ago, and there was nothing left to battle. 

All is quiet, and I am learning how to breathe without paying attention, instead of experiencing the constant suffocating, burning feeling of always pushing through to just. one. more. step. forward. 

I'm not stupid. I know that in a matter of days or weeks, my brain will find a way to rebel against the medications, or something will suddenly happen that will trigger the shotgun of my usual "normal" and the impact will blast me back to where I once was. 

But now, right now, I can breathe. 

I can hear the silence. I can see the world fogless and clear. I can taste life sweet instead of bitter. I can feel my body calm and free from what it's been through and taken in. 

My demons seem to be off work for the holidays, and it would be silly of me to speak out in times of hurt, only to cease expressing gratitude in times of relief. 

Underwater or risen above it, I love my Jesus. And I'm thankful for the extra air.