Worry less.

I guess I was in a relationship that I didn’t really want to be in because most of my worrying is completely gone. I feel much better with her as my friend. We can talk much more freely and I don’t feel like there’s a leash around my neck. I will commit to the right girl, but she wasn’t it for me. I hate to say it, because on paper we seemed so perfect together. But we were meant to be pals. I’m glad the transition was so super-easy. And in a turn of absolute serendipity, she finally got an interview for the California job she wants. Now we can both follow our own paths while still keeping each other in our lives, without anyone feeling like their needs aren’t being met. Fantastic.

I had a full-blown freak-out of epic proportion.

I worry about really stupid stuff. It is outrageously debilitating, and unlike the person I used to be. Granted, I don’t worry about things like getting mugged or accidents or random events. I worry endlessly that I will be abandoned by my friends and family. This makes all kinds of good sense to me, as it happened to me frequently as a kid. I want to and need to stop, but I have no idea where to begin. When people give me advice, I tell them, snidely, to get back to me when their first set of adoptive parents die in a seven-month period. It’s so harsh, and so alienating. So it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy: I am afraid that people will leave, so I lash out at them until they do. I fail to see the trees for the forest; I look at the largest picture possible and pick out all the possible blemishes. Nevermind that the alleged blemishes could be birds or flowers. I think I know in advance what’s going to happen, and try and protect myself from every possible hurt by shoving everyone away. Charming, I know.

I have come so far with tempering angry outbursts, which are non-existent now that I have them under control. But anger seems to have been replaced by bitterness and regret; I’d almost rather have my bad temper back. I am so disgusted with myself and my behavior, but don’t know how to change. I know I am responsible for my own feelings, and there is no reason to blame others. I’m so proud of learning that good lesson. But now I’ve placed all the blame squarely on my shoulders, and the burden of carrying it all around is getting heavy. Everyone makes mistakes, but any and all of mine seem like the effects will be detrimental to my long-term success. Ugh. Mostly I need a break from all the freaking analysis.

I cancelled my subscription to Harper’s. That’s a good start. Or is it simply an active decision to be less informed? How can access to less information be a good thing? (See what I mean?...)

It’s starting to take up more space in my mind lately. Perhaps it’s the thought of the upcoming elections or the many articles and blogs in the New York Times.

But I’ve decided to do something to help out. Even if it’s just something small.

It’s cheesy, but I’m listening to disco to try and distract myself from my incessant worrying so that I can get some work done.

If it’s not one thing, it’s another. I worry about my business doing well, and then procrastinate on important things. This is my second-to-last semester before I graduate and I’m slacking in my classes. I worry if I’m going to move back to Buffalo, and if it will be as economically depressed as when I left. I worry about leaving Florida, as I’ve made friends and have established a life here. I worry about selling my condo and what that means, and where I will go. I’m worried that my relationships are faltering because I’m so damn morose all the time. I worry that I’m not happy. Then I go to yoga and all of that seems to disappear for a while. Is it possible to actually just live in the moment?