Saturday, January 31, 2015
The optimist. Not the pessimist.
I confess. I've been having anxiety attacks. Verging on panic. Indeed. A
new and strange sensation. A mental hang-up. I need help. And I'm
getting it. By digging deep. Into my psyche. Into my fears. The
important thing. Recognition. That I have a real problem. With anxiety. I
have to talk and reason my way out of the labyrinth. Bringing the
situation under control. Before reaching the stage of panic. Sadly.
Sadly. I've allowed myself to drift. Into anxiety. Over health-related
issues. Needlessly. A little bit at a time. I'm beginning to understand
the nature of anxiety. And I've become my own astute psychoanalyst.
Talking to myself. In an effort to quell anxiety. Believe me. It's been a
scary time. A humbling experience, too. That a big, stalwart confident
fellow like me has become fearful. It's a weakness in my psychological
demeanor. An affliction. Similar in some ways to depression. Somewhere,
some how, I lost self-confidence in my physical being. In my personal
security. Of course, I'm still able to put on a self-confident facade.
But to tell the truth. In recent weeks, I've really been an insecure
human being. And I have to do something about it. This is no way to
live. Fortunately, I have the ability and wherewithal and determination
to turn things around. To regain my self-confidence. By recognizing the
truth of what's happening. Not only to me. But to some friends and
acquaintances. They've become anxious and unsure of themselves. Some
have plunged into depression. I've been a little depressed. So I'm talking about it. With my friends. With
associates. With strangers, too. I'm learning how to cope. With the
affliction of anxiety. I've always been able to help other people cope.
But I've ignored me. Lost my way. Lost my confidence. But I'm finding my
way back. I'm feeling good again. And confident. About myself. I'm the
optimist. Not the pessimist. --Jim Broede
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