Bittersweet Stress

     I find the strangest ways to stress myself out. I have torturous fits of panic and when you ask me to pinpoint why, I panic even more. It's the strangest thing. I've always been this way. I stress and worry about things completely out of my control, all of the time. I've tried the breathing exercises. I've tried therapy. I've tried meditation and medication. Nothing can stop this stupid brain from overworking itself into an absolute frenzy.  And what do I worry about? Everything. Everyone. It's very stressful stuff to me, but to the regular, functioning person, it's nothing that can't work itself out, usually. If my sweet parents had a quarter for every time in the last 29 years they had to tell me "Mandy, you can't control the situation, there is nothing you can do about it, so there is no point in worrying about it," they'd be able to move to the country and live in a giant house by now. And own some horses. And have a butler. And a chef....you get the point.
     My poor parents. They've spent most of my life trying to convince me that everything was all right and that I was constantly worrying for nothing. They were so happy to see me thrive in college. Then I get my Master's degree, making them the proudest of me they've probably ever been.  And at the age of 24, I think I finally started to relax and not worry that someone was going to break in and steal me in the middle of the night, or that while my parents were on one of their motorcycle trips they would veer off the road and plunge into the depths of the mountains to their deaths (yes, this is always where my head went. From: everything is okay to total devastation with no stops in between for logic to intervene).
    But, I started to relax. And life was good.
    One day, I was applying for PhD programs, weighing the pros and cons of which city to move to, planning my adult life, talking about marriage with the love of my life and then it just ended.....it all stopped. It was all over. 
    I had finally started to believe that all of the worrying was in my head and I needed to relax and simply enjoy the exciting things happening and then tragedy struck. The love of my life was gone. And not just gone. Just as I had done in my head for 24 years, it came true. Total tragedy with nothing in between. He wasn't coming back. Ever.
    There isn't much to say immediately after that. Suddenly though, I quit worrying. About anything. Because it had finally happened: the worst possible thing I could have imagined...


    A friend of mine and I met up not too long before I left for Chicago, and I was filling her in with what's been new in the last several months. And as I finish catching her up, she looks at me, and with no hesitation or joking quality about it, said "God, Amanda, you're like a magnet to death. No offense."
     I couldn't stop laughing. I laughed the entire way to the restaurant. Not my regular, gut-clenching, you-are-funny-as-sh*t laugh, but more like what one would describe as maniacal perhaps? And this is because she was right.
     Most people will agree that at the age of nearly 30, I've been around a lot of death. People don't call me morbid for nothing. The strange thing about it though, it doesn't ever get easier. It hurts every single time, in different ways, but DAMN, it's painful.
    A friend of mine just suffered a really tragic loss two days ago and I couldn't be around people yesterday. I have this strange ability/hindrance (depending on how you look at it) to take on pain of others, and it's almost more than empathy. It's as though I truly feel their hearts breaking. And I guess that would be my wish: to take that pain and make it my own. Take away the sadness and suffering from others. I'd do it happily. That's probably one reason I'm so debilitated by others' hearts breaking. Twisted, isn't it? I've spent most of my life worrying about the worst possible thing happening in any given situation, and then it happened to me.  And, I survived it. Not very well for quite a while, but I kept breathing. Because I had to, even if there were times I didn't want to,  I HAD TO.  And after five years, I decided existing wasn't good enough anymore, I was ready to LIVE again. So that brought me to Chicago. And yes, it was for me, but it was mostly because of my amazing parents, who really pushed me to find passion in life again; constantly reminding me my life wasn't over just because someone else's was.
    And yesterday, as I struggled with not being at home to comfort my friends, I talked to a new favorite friend up here, who is slowly, but surely convincing me day-by-day, to turn my negative, sad thoughts into positive strides to help others. He's beyond awesome, he's amazing. And my dear friend who welcomed me with open arms? Well, she couldn't be a better support to have when I'm in a bad spot. I'm doing alright, even when I think I'm not, I am.
    So, although my heart hurts for others and I wish, wish, WISH I could take the pain and suffering from those with broken hearts, I'm still trying to manage to take care of my own.  One of my most favorite movies, called 'One Last Thing' has a quote in it, and I refer back to it  time and time again (since death is a commonality). 
     "When you're born, you cry and the world is happy; when you die, the world cries and you are happy."
     Sweet thought, right? Even if it is bittersweet.