Sunday, September 30, 2012

I'm surprised I don't have an ulcer by now.

I am a worrywart. There is no denying it; I constantly worry about things.

I'm worried about my Grandmother and her failing health. I'm worried about my mother's health. I'm worried about my parent's inevitable deaths. I worry about finding a job. I worry about my future. I worry about my friends. I worry about being alone for the rest of my life. Worry worry worry.

Some of those concerns are beyond my control. Some I can control, but it is hard for me to believe it.

Perhaps the greatest situation that causes me to worry is waiting for someone to come home. I remember countless times being home alone in the evening, waiting for my mother and sister to come home from some event or errand. I they were half an hour late, I would began to panic and cry. My grandmother's daily evening call would calm me down a little (or at least a vent for my anxiety), but it would always get her a little worked up. Then I would feel so relieved when they got home and a bit embarrassed for getting worked up.

That habit has continued into adulthood. If my father is running a little late, I go crazy. I don't remember when, but recently, I was pacing the floor, breathing heavily, looking out the window and down at my phone. I'm afraid if I don't worry, something bad will happen. I don't want to know that as my father was being rushed to a hospital, I was getting upset over a Creeper blowing me up in Minecraft.

I believe two things may have contributed to this fear: Watching 20/20 and other shows that follow a disappearance and murder, and my Paternal Grandmother's death.

I watched a lot of those shows growing up. It was thanks to 20/20 that I asked about my anesthesia wearing off in the middle of my appendectomy. Why did a 10-year-old's TGIF night end with 20/20? I continued to watch those murder shows (What is this genre called. Reality?) growing up and I always saw a pattern; It was just like any other day and someone was apparently running late. BOOM, just like that. A quiet early-fall afternoon suddenly becomes the day a friend or family member went missing/was murdered. All without warning. It's not like finding out that your shark-wrestling, best friend was eaten by a shark. You are to expect those kinds of dangers in an occupation like that. Someone was coming home from the library and then they are killed, or injured in an accident, or murdered, or kidnapped.

I have a bit more personal reason for my many fears. My Grandmother died like in the paragraph above. She and a friend were on their way to the market to pick up vegetables, and then were hit by a train at a poorly marked crossing. Instead of seeing his mother come home with a bag full of vegetables, my seven-year-old father saw a New York State Trooper bearing the news of the accident to his father. Fifty years ago today, a seemingly normal day turned to tragedy.


How am I not to worry? Every time he gets in the car for any reason could be his last! It could be the last time I ever see my father! Knowing this, I always try and tell him before he leaves, "I love you".

Maybe I am more afraid of sudden change. That feeling I, and I'm sure most people got, after 9/11. We can never go back to the World that existed on September 10. Probably didn't help that our Government told us to act normal and change everything we do. Besides that, I always fear a little in the back of my head, that something bad is going to happen. I honestly think that an A-Bomb is going to go off in America at any minute, wiping out a city. When the Emergency Broadcast Signal went off on the radio, I thought "Putin finally went mad and he's nuking us!". Turns out, it was a warning for a sever storm. Oops.

What's wrong with me?

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