I will probably edit this post a hundred times.
Firstly, because I’m anxious about getting some posts up, so I will push “publish” way too soon. Secondly, because I’m a perfectionist and nothing is good enough until I review it after I forget it exists.
I’m scared of everything.
I was not always this way. I can pinpoint a time in my life when I’m fairly certain worry started infiltrating my psyche. My uncle died. I was in my mid-twenties and I got the call at 8 a.m. that he had passed away the night before on his kitchen floor from cardiac arrest. His very young son was home but his wife and daughter were not, so he lay on the floor, helpless, until they found his lips turning blue. I can only imagine the horrible scene since I was hundreds of miles away, forgetting my family in my post-collegiate selfish phase.
It was then I realized bad things happen unexpectedly.
Years passed and many living situations later I was browsing Facebook and happened upon some devastating news. A former roommate of mine had suddenly lost her husband. He passed out, his heart stopped and he was never able to be revived. She was six months pregnant.
It was then I realized bad things happen frequently.
Those examples certainly aren’t the only two sad events I’ve lived through, but they have resonated with me for years. Because why, why did these horrible things have to happen to these wonderful people – with no warning, no preparation, no reason? So I constantly try to control the bad things in my life by playing it safe. Playing everything safe.
Sometimes I’ll check my husband’s breath in the middle of the night just to make sure he’s still alive.
I’ll avoid talking about my son, because he’s not out of my belly yet, and who knows what can happen during delivery?
Really, it’s no way to live.
I want out of my head, my worry, my constant fear. I know I’m not alone in this type of psychosis, but that doesn’t help in rectifying the situation.