How did worry become a talisman against bad things happening, a mode of protection? I can remember worrying myself sick over things when I was younger. I remember a bully at school during first grade who had me so fearful that I crawled under the kitchen table on a Sunday night after dinner, refusing to come out and go to school the next day. I worried over things outside the realm of my home and tried, unsuccessfully, faking sick to get to stay curled up and safe on the couch in front of the tv.

I remember that my mother once told me things were never as bad as you worry they will be. I know what she meant. I know that you can torment yourself in your own mind far more than most things outside yourself can. I know my mother imparted this knowledge to me one worrisome day, putting into words something I hadn’t realized. I had been astonished when things turned out as she said and I had worried over nothing! It astonishes me to this day when that happens.

I do have an innate faith that things generally work out for the best, one way or another. But I am still a worrier. I obsess and I dwell and I flounder around in my own negative thoughts. I can tell myself all I want I’m worrying for nothing. But I am superstitious. I am more afraid sometimes to let go of worry. It seems to balance itself out – I will worry and then the universe will resolve the situation. To not worry seems callous and punishable by a worse outcome. Right?

I should’ve known things were going too well lately. And there’s another ingrained belief. If things are going well that means something bad is about to happen. I guess it also needs to be balanced. But there is also a sense of guilt in being happy. Where does it all come from? And in the realization of how screwed up it is, why doesn’t it disappear?
  ¶ 9:51 PM