One of my anxiety producing thoughts came to fruition this week. I lost my 18-year-old cat. It took a couple of days to process my grief, and it stirred up grief I continue to live in spite of, but I didn’t go off the deep end. I’m still standing. I’m not a gelatinous mess of my former self.
The fears that I would come completely apart at the seams, were a waste of the precious time I have been given to live life to its fullest.
This is the second time I have found myself shaking my head over my ‘anxiety thoughts’. I have incessantly worried about our oldest son and his situation. All is fine. He has formed a goal and is working toward reaching it.
While worrying about things beyond my control, moments tick off that can be spent doing something more positive.
Excess worry over situations I have no control of, can be better used to improve the way I feel and think about myself. Anxiety only weakens me, making life harder to manage.
Second lesson learned?
That’s the first time I have written those words, or said them aloud, and I seriously believe that anxiety (other than the normal amount) no longer serves a purpose for me.
Hopefully, the lessons I’ve learned will make me stronger against depression. If that black dog, Hagatha, comes a-sniffing around I will not give her any treats so that she hangs around—dragging me down.