When a normal person is scared they have breast, skin or bone cancer,
They simply get examined by a doctor and have a quick answer.
But I worry the procedure will have serious complications,
Or their medical equipment will have poor calibrations,
Or the laboratory will make gross errors in their calculations,
Or the results will come back with (gasp!) positive confirmations!
So instead I go to a therapist and have lengthy conversations . . .
“How do I stop incessantly worrying about everything?” I ask.
They nod knowingly, sending me home with one simple task.
“Write down everything you fear happening, make one great big list.
Because once it’s down on paper, from your mind it’ll be dismissed.”
I take my pencil and put every single dread down in plain black and white
But maybe writing causes lead poisoning, how to avoid that disturbing plight?
And reading these awful lists are more frightening than thinking I have ovarian cysts.
To the depths of despair I sink, the only thing to do is find another Shrink.
The next one prescribes Xanax, Zoloft, Valium, and even a little Prozac.
Cuz drugs have your back & get you on track when life goes outa whack.
(Never mind the side effects, like filling your arteries up with plaque!)
Oh dear, this isn’t working; I think I need to just find a homeopathic Guru.
“Don’t Worry, Be Happy” a sign over his desk sounds a little too woo-woo.
He warns, “Thinking about something you don’t want, will surely bring it about”
Oh great, now all my concerns will come true, of that there can be no doubt!
“Thank you!” I say as I pay the pretty receptionist his outrageous high bill.
I can’t think about going broke; I need to worry about writing my own will.
But first my caring boyfriend offers (for free!) his own professional tactics,
“You need an adjustment,” he says, “You should never underestimate chiropractics.”
I climb up on his special table, wondering if it’s been recently sterilized.
“Just don’t touch my neck, back, shoulders or body…I don’t wanna be paralyzed.”
He shakes his head in frustration and I fear his prognosis is gonna be bleak.
“I know you pick our dinners and movies — my diagnosis is you’re a Control Freak.”
As I drive home I realize I haven’t heard from my kids, not a peep all day long,
Now I’m sure they’ve been kidnapped or injured, or something else is wrong.
“Kids” I say, “Why don’t you phone to pester me or tell me your life is a mess?”
“We’ve been told to keep things secret, so we don’t cause you further stress.”
This sounds like bad advice from none other than my ridiculous Ex.
Now how will I know if my son is on drugs or my daughter’s having sex??!
As a last resort, I take all my troubles to an Author’s Workshop and ask for advice.
“Go home and Blog about it, I’m sure your followers will think that’s nice.”
But I worry an 800-word story about an MRI and a malignant brain tumor,
Will cause my readers to suspect, “She’s completely lost her (odd!) sense of humor!”
So maybe I’ll write a poem – but gosh, should it be a sonnet, a limerick or a haiku?
And will my depressing topic elicit comments like, “Sheesh, we really dislike you!”
Where will this ever end? There’s no remedy for being a compulsive worrier . . .
I’ll just go back to sleep, it’s clear my future’s dim and so much blurrier.
Desperate, I read the label sewn into my bed, “Under penalty of law, do not remove!”
And I smile and think, “Wow, I can do that! Now my life will start to improve!”
Yes, pillows and mattress tags are something I can completely control,
So I can cross off worrying about arrests, going to jail and never getting out on parole!
Once Upon Your Prime 
I’m also a professional worrier. If the disease doesn’t get us, we could do ourselves in. We have to learn to breathe! 🙂
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Live on your feet or merely exist on your knees. Get up you hind legs and howl a at the moon. A little bloody minded defiance goes a long way. Acts/thoughts of disbelief in your own fear (thats just my brain playing tricks) are a powerful tool.
If people think your crazy/scary then you have nothing to be afraid of, they do. Good luck. 😀
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So perfectly put! Thank you!
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You are welcome.
How about an occasional rant. 😛
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Kick ass writing! Mine started when I read Madeline when I was 7 and thought I had appendicitis. (Little girl in story has one) I was rushed to the ER but nothing was actually wrong. Biiiiig worry and big imagination!
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Yep! Terrifically chaotic combo! And pretty soon you hear “the boy who cried wolf” one too many times, right? 😉 Thanks so much for commenting here today!
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❤️😅 oh yes everything was “your anxiety” from that point forward! But um, most of the time it was 😉
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I’ll bet you held your finger to your kids’ noses when they were babies too, just to make sure they were breathing. This post was hilarious but also so true for so many of us, what my mother always called, “worry warts.”
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LOL. I’m a nurse, so when I’m not listening to patients’ concerns, I’m taking on their symptoms. After reading your post, I think poetry is the answer. After all: iambic pentameter sounds like a disease; without needing treatment, life is a breeze!
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I’m a nurse, so when I’m not listening to patients’ concerns, I’m taking on their symptoms. After reading your post, I believe poetry is the answer. Iambic pentameter sounds like a disease, without needing treatment makes life a breeze!
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Too many worries! Now, can we just take a deep breath and start over? Writing them down and tackling your worries one by one should help. Or sleep. And sleep some more.
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Looking at your title I was concerned about a knife in the back. As I read on, I really started to worry.
Then there’s this
And this really causes me worry
What am I going to do? Pleeze tell me. I will be eternally grateful.
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Clever poem. But pssst, here’s a secret…it’s never been illegal for the consumer to remove those tags. Remove away! Chase your cares away, I say….
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Yeah– I think that was a favorite bit for old stand-up comics. Thanks for commenting!
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lol.
A common fear I have all the time,
is not coming up with a good rhyme.
🙂
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I don’t think you have to worry about that.
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Actually making a list of your worries will not stop the worry it’s what you do with the list. Certainly do not eat it for that’s not fun, even reducing it to ashes won’t get the job done. You have such a creative mind with so much energy, put it to work writing a movie or a thriller of sorts. Trap yourself not on these worries today for in one hundred years they will all go away. In the mean time enjoy life to the hilt.
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Wow, you really overcame. You do realize you incriminated yourself by actually posting the evidence on your blog, right? Oh, I see you now, curled up in a ball and singing ‘They’re coming to take me away’ ad nauseam.
BTW, in our typical somewhat telepathic fashion, I was just last night thinking about doing a poem on phobias.
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We are linked from garage sales to neurosis!
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It’s a beautiful thing (as I wipe a tear from my eye).
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Brilliant poem Steph, so clever!
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Thank you so much. It wasn’t especially cathartic however. Now I can have a panic attack that rhymes. 😉
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Ha Ha! I love a rhyme 🙂
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