would i be me if i didn't worry myself so much that i can't sleep?

i don't think so.

i remember the day i realized that i couldn't get out of bed without cataloging my worries each morning.

i worry for hours, until i tire myself of it and drift off to sleep, only to wake up in the middle of the night so i can worry some more.

i find myself clenching and grinding my teeth more and more often.

i wish it weren't so.

have i inherited this, is it a cultural legacy that's been left to me? my parents and grandparents had to leave their homes in the middle of the night--has spending a lifetime tracing their scars created some of my own?

my physical therapist told me that i am the biggest empath she's treated in twenty-five years. i always want to know what's brought the other patients there, and every time i end up hating insurance companies and evil corporations, wanting to hug these strangers and tell them they'll be okay. i want to tell them not to give up, that they'll regain the use of their hands, to keep fighting for what they deserve. i want to give them hope when they have none.

but what about me? what about my hopes? will i be okay?

i'd rather worry than leave it to chance.