The Scared Child of 48

I am 48 and glad to admit that.  Most women shy away about their age.  I learned as soon as I heard the word cancer 11 years ago, that age was a reward every year, month, week, day and moment we receive it.  But although I am 48 I often am that same scared little girl, so shy I am almost afraid of my own shadow.  I have enough issues with depression and anxiety that I now find small problems and impending confrontations can leave my heart racing and put me in a state of crisis for days on end.  It makes me feel so far from an adult… just a stupid scared little girl who can’t do anything for herself for fear of making things worse.

Today is one of those days.  Not only am I stuck between choices, but I feel I lose a lot with either one.  My choice of daughter over friend (which I have no doubt I will choose) leaves me so deeply saddened… and maybe slightly angry with my daughter for putting me in that place.  My choice of friend may keep him from feeling everyone has turned on him when he has met so many slamming doors already.  All I want to do is help… but if I do I could lose my daughter. She is my life.

So fear has my chest in a tight grip.  What I felt was going to be a great thing to help a friend out and give me some peace of mind with daily assistance has now become impossible without losing my daughter.  I fear though if I don’t help my friend, he may lose his life.  Fear is dragging me into a corner.  Fear is showing me nothing but bad endings no matter where I turn.  Fear makes me want to have an ending… but that would be a story for a different kind of note and not simple 1 am ramblings of a 48-year-old anxiety riddled child.  Time to pull the blanket over my head and think in my fort.  Think and cry until the fear can be safely eliminated.  Nighty night…sleep tight.. don’t let the bed bugs bite.

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