Psychotherapy--me, mom and daddy.

I have a tendency to freak out at things that don't really warrant freaking out. Maybe they do. I'm not sure. This week, I was offered, and I accepted, a job as a web producer at ABC-4 in Salt Lake City. Accordingly, I've been sorely depressed since.

I'm not sure at what point I'll be fine with growing up, or at what point transitions won't paralyze me.

I once had a broken heart for two-and-a-half years. I won't tell you who did it (if you've known me long enough, you'll know). Just know that it's not broken anymore. But I remember when I would go back home and see the places I associated with him, and how horribly it would rip me apart. Oh, how desperate I became. Desperate and wounded. I went from in love to in despair so quickly. As they say, the first cut is the deepest.

I was putting away clean socks this morning, when I flashed back to my childhood. I remember sitting on the floor as my mom dressed me. She was adept at rolling up our socks, bunching up the heel all the way to the toe in her hands so we could easily slide our feet in.

I've been remembering many more things about my childhood these days. It think because I equate graduating college with entering adulthood. I don't know why I'm so scared about it.

Please tell me it's not as scary as I think it will be.