It’s Exhausting Being Me

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On my tombstone it will read:  She wore herself out.

I have often said it is exhausting being me.  I am a world-class fretter, worrier, pacer, if it has something to do with worry and anxiety, I’ve experienced it.  Perhaps even perfected it.  I am the only person I know who plans her anxiety attacks in advance. Example:

We are going on a Big Fat European Vacation in mid-July.  It is now early June but lest you think I’ve been sitting on my laurels, I’ll have you know I’ve been fretting about this holiday since…hmmm…February.  I have set aside the July long weekend for some uninterrupted worry-time (the rest of the family is getting as far away from me as possible for 3 days).  The day we leave, I will be unbearable. (bolding & italics courtesy of my husband).

As a worrier I work overtime; however, I am careful how much I disclose regarding the worry levels.   This alleviates the stampeding panic of bystanders.  It also prevents family members from attempting to reduce my stress levels.   Methods can be anything from placing random Valium on my nightstand to pesky worry interventions with “qualified professionals.”

Did my husband think (silly man) that this trip would distract me from all of my usual mundane worries?  Although I can hardly walk and talk at the same time, I can handily worry about a myriad of subjects simultaneously.  In my sleep.  For example, this very minute I am worrying about : the kids eating habits, homework, money (or the perpetual lack thereof), the house, squirrels, the state of the world, AS WELL AS :  food, transportation, pickpockets, and museum lineups in Rome, Athens, and some place in Turkey I cannot pronounce (which is also a worry).

Oh, and I worry about my writing.  A lot.  I worry that I don’t write enough, that I write too much but of the wrong things, that I sometimes write as though English is a second language (it’s not), and that my writing is contributing to our perpetual lack of money (see above and please note that worry combined with guilt is a particularly toxic combination).  It’s a wonder I have the energy to string any sentences together at all.

A friend of mine recently asked me if it was possible to take a vacation from myself.  I think that would involve taking more mind-altering drugs than I am willing to ingest.

I need a nap.

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3 responses »

  1. The problem with being smart is being smart – smart enough to think of all the possible things that could happen. IMHO, the problem with most smart people is that they think they can know everything and hence can be prepared for every eventuality. Since I am not as smart (or maybe its my ADD), I embrace the randomness of life.

    Accepting that have limited influence others & future events, is liberating. Sure I still worry, but I am easily distracted from it. BBC on late night radio for example. Plus, being a creative person as well, I love to dream of solutions – the more grandiose the better. Plus when bad shit happens, and it does and will, revel in how well you deal with it. After all you are smart.

    Of course don’t change – Consider however looking a life as a crap shoot and the adventure of solving life as it happens. It turns out never to be as you imagine which IMHO is usually much better.

    Love ya – Enjoy your family vacation.

  2. Wouldn’t a couple of Valium be easier? I can’t remember all of the good advice when I’m in mid-nervous breakdown! It’s all I can do to remember to breathe! But, I wll try! Thx, P.

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