I have a confession to make. I panic. I am a panickier. (Look at that word. Who came up with idea to put the 'K' in there? And an 'I' in addition to the 'ER'? Strange.)
When something happens my mind goes to the worst case scenario and the sky might as well be falling because it's all over Charlie.
When I was younger I was a chronic worrier. I would worry about everything -- so much that it physically made me sick. I think I got over that between junior year of high school and sophomore year of college. But what replaced it was my doomsday gut reactions.
Now that I'm responsible for myself and any financial consequences that the universe throws at me I can't help but to freak out at Every. Little. Thing.
I started wheezing last week and ohmigod, I was having an asthma attack. It didn't dawn on me until the next day that it could possibly just be a chest cold. It was a very long, sleepless night before I came to that conclusion though.
My oven stopped working and then came the mental calculations of how I was going to afford a new one, the anticipated stress of finding a new one and getting rid of the old one.
I wouldn't say I'm a hypochondriac because I hate these panic attacks and always have to talk myself out of them. I also hate going to the doctor, that probably has something to do with it.
While for the most part I'm managing my panic okay, I don't know how to shut it off completely. And once I get over that there will probably some other neuroses taking its place.
But just so you know, if I ever break a heel at a dance club, I'm going to be all Panic! At the Disco. ..... :-)
Sorry, had to do it.
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