The big one

Take a breath, this is the big one. This is the deep dark murky reason that I started this blog. Ready for it? Get your favorite psychologist on hold. I've eluded to my paranoic tendencies on my other blog, but I've never given light to the actual huge scary black spot on my existence that the paranoia is. So here goes. First step is admittance, right? To set the stage for the big reveal, here are two stories from my youth. Both started probably around the age of 8. And both started when my parents were out on dates (coincidence? or just more evidence that I should not be left alone). For some odd reason, the sound of approaching cars makes me terribly apprehensive. When I was younger, it made me super terrified. I'd be playing out in the front yard and if I heard a car turn into our cul-de-sac I would book it for the garage and hide. Honestly, we lived on a cul-de-sac, the most threatening thing above people I knew very well was the UPS man. But it still freaked me out. One day I was home alone (or blocked the presence of my siblings, haha), I heard a motorcycle come and turn around in the cul-de-sac. Here is the path my brain took: Why is there a motorcycle on our street? Maybe he's coming in to rob our house and then leave really quickly. I bet if he is, he'll drive straight into the courtyard and then smash down the door. Oh my gosh, what am I going to do? Ok, here's a beanbag. I'll stand ready with the beanbag and then throw it at him right when he comes through the door to disorient him. What am I going to do after that though? Run out the kitchen door and around to the front while he's untangling himself from the beanbag. I bet I can make it to the neighbors house before he catches me!
Ok, let's review. First of all, a beanbag? Really Abbey, a beanbag? How is that going to defend against a motorcycle? Or even before that, a motorcycle smashing down a door to rob a house? How is he going to get away with all the goods he's procured? (Like it would even happen in the first place). You see? This is Evidence A into how wacked out my thoughts are.
Next experience is relatively short (for me). I was sitting in our dining room loving our sweet dog Mischief, and suddenly it hit me like a tidal wave of awfulness and despair-someday, this little dog that I love so much, is going to get old and die. That thought naturally progressed into the horrifying realization that someday my parents are going to as well, and my sisters, and my family, and my friends. I started crying, and didn't stop for a long while.
So put these two things together: Over over over active imagination that imagines ridiculous scenarios (in great detail I might add, complete with what emotion would accompany which situation) for no other reason than there is a slight possibility of it happening + a great fear of people (and dogs) I love dying. Today you have a 27 year old who now has a much beloved husband and two extremely lovely children that hold my entire heart added onto the list of "people I cannot live without". Today, you have me. I will jump from bumped noggin to brain damage. Tiredness to leukemia. A content and very chill little 5 mo old who has yet to roll over to (again) brain damage of some sort. And all equal death. I said it. That's an ugly word, but I had to say it. I get literally and figuratively gripped with fear and I cannot tame these (usually baseless) thoughts. I'm fairly certain I've had several anxiety attacks just within the last couple of months. I can't shake it. I am however, fully aware that I am in control of the pathways my brain takes. I'm fully aware that I lack faith. I lack the acceptance that life also equals death. I lack trust that my life will take the path it is supposed to take, as will that of my family. But how do I get from the position I'm in now to merely a healthy amount of worry? That my friends, is the question.
Phew. There. That'll be the deepest stuff on here hopefully. Go forth and don't worry! LOL.