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