It is a belief.

I fear life. I live in a state of fear. I long for the days when I was not so scared. I try to snap out of it. I tell myself mind over matter. That is exactly the problem.

My mind opened up to a world of fear the first day I ever had a panic attack. I never had depression or anxiety before I got in my accident. I cannot think of a time when I was fearful. I lived. I never had to think about my exit. I came and went as I pleased.

Today, I live to feel at ease. I will not go out at night if I have to drive home at night alone. I know that I can do it. I understand that nothing will happen to me. My mind comprehends the silliness of what it is doing, but I worry all the time.

It affects whether or not I will enjoy and evening. If the circumstances are not just so, I will think about the drive home or how late is until I start to feel anxious and ultimately cause myself to have an attack.

I have decided that avoiding the scary works best for me. I am comfortable in my bubble. I go to and from work and will drive to places I am comfortable driving during the day. I know it is a terrible way to live. I am happy and young and can be fun when I want to be. I am letting something control me because I am scared of the fact that I might not be able to control it.

I don't know why things have been worse lately. I honestly do not. Maybe my life is starting to fall together, so instead of worrying my mind with goals and the future, I have more time to worry about my real worry. I should probably try to analyze myself less. That might be step one.

So, I used to blog a long time ago....

A long long time ago, I used to blog. I reconnected with an old friend and she mentioned how she has been doing a lot of blogging. She has an amazing and intricate blog, by the way, if you want to check it out... www.createliveblog.com

It started me thinking about how I used to blog. I realize that my blogs were all ridiculous and all Idina-centric... thus, the name of the blog, but it was really just my way of talking about things I care about in a way that makes sense to me. I never cared about grammar or spelling, I just wrote. I have this idea that I will write a book one day, but a Chelsea Handler type book, not a Twilight/Harry Potter one. The memoir books that I find to be most successful are the ones written as if the person is telling you the stories themselves. They are much more relate-able.

Back to Idina, I got a wee bit peeved with the woman after my nightmare cupcake journey to Atlanta. Yes, she brought it on stage, but no... I did not get to have my moment with her. I ask too much of my fake friends.

I have started rehearsing my Wicked role again. I am sure the part has been cast, but it doesn't hurt to know my stuff. I really do need to get those vocal lessons.

Brief catch-up: 9 to 5 in insurance, tired, home, saving, bakery, music, distance, and the moral of the story is... not much has changed. The characters and the back drop are different, but the story is still the same. Trying to stay positive and still having delusions of grandeur. I am here to say that those two life choices don't quite work together cohesively.

I think Idina secretly missed my blog. Whoops, and there I go again.