Musings · Uncategorized

The Worst Case Scenario…

I left my phone at home today when I headed off to work and I didn’t realize it until I was already at work.

I hated not having my phone with me. So much. But not for the reasons you’re thinking…

I don’t care about social media. I’m not on facebook, I rarely check twitter, and instagram isn’t that big of a deal. The only thing I really have on my phone, that is important to me, is my kindle app. I love reading whenever I get a chance and I’m in the process of reading four books. But, I digress…I didn’t even need my phone for kindle because I had a tablet with me.

I hated not having my phone with me because I was afraid if God forbid something happened to me. Granted, I was at work all day, and my mother works there too so I wasn’t too worry about the eight hours I was at work for. What I worried about was driving home.

I thought about what could’ve happened to me as I drove home. Mostly I thought about how I could’ve had an accident and not been able to call anyone to help. Granted, I’ve never gotten into a car accident, but not having my phone made the possibility that much scarier. I tried not to think about it throughout the day, and I manage to succeed a little bit, but from the moment I got into the car, it’s the only thing I could think of.

I didn’t worry about it going to work because I thought I had my phone. I thought I was covered. But knowing I didn’t have it on the way home, freaked me out.

And, honestly, that’s not the only thing I’ve worried about. I worry about almost everything and I always worry about the worst case scenario. Always. It doesn’t matter if my worries are unwarranted, they’re still there and they just get bigger and bigger until it’s all I can think about. And this is probably exactly where my anxiety stems from.

I think it might also stem from my mother…she’s kind of a worry wart too. She only watches the news and criminal minds so she’s always thinking about the worst case scenario and always cautions me to be careful and watch myself. She’s my mom, I get it and I love her for it, but I think her constant worrying is rubbing on me, making me worry when I don’t need to. I mean, I still call her when I get home so that she knows I’m home safe.

Just recently she told me about a woman who got abducted, raped, and killed, on a road near where I live. Except it happened 25 years ago…but it doesn’t matter when it happened, to my mother, it just happened and now she worries about that with me.

Granted, I know she’s right to worry, just like I’m right to worry. I’m 4’10” and maybe, at most, 100 lbs. It’s not like it would be hard to pick me up and abduct me. I’m not stupid to think that I’m invincible. But that doesn’t mean I have to worry about everything all the time.

That’s not the only thing I worry about. Growing up with a medical condition, my whole childhood was about worrying. Worrying and making sure I didn’t hurt myself. I couldn’t run or climb trees. I couldn’t play sports or stay after school. In short, I couldn’t do anything because I was too fragile. There were too many variables that could’ve happened to me so I wasn’t able to do things.

One time I was playing basketball with my cousins and it was right after my back surgery. I had a brace on and we were shooting hoops, not even playing a real game. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but in one moment I was standing up, the next I was flat on my back.

The drama that unfolded was ridiculous. There was yelling, panicking, and crying. (my cousins were crying because they got in trouble). I was then promptly brought into the house to get checked out and make sure I was okay.

And that’s basically the story of my whole life.

Do you wonder, now, why I have anxiety and worry about the worst case scenario? I was conditioned to worry from the moment I was born.

I’m not sure if I ever stood a chance…

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